The force of re-entry from an orbit retreat; hitting ground
with pen in hand, I plunge back into the world.
Pieces of wood snap together and boast their deep burn,
red and solid; the transformation of space and energy.
Paper covered shelves, homeless in their temporary home;
this place of disorder, schedules lost, and a wormhole for the renovators
of thought and work.
Our cats don’t mind the chaos – jumbled furniture,
piled books and yesterday’s news – more surface space.
Kittens scratching at heads, night time cardboard rustles;
a test of skill in the morning rewarded late afternoon.
My kittens lie away from me, until a phone rings or visitors
take my attention, their ego brains attack, vie for my affection again.
Rain falls heavy in carport pools, our half day ticks
by lounging bare on the couch, as we watch the cats race.
We wake to white blankets – this cold warmth of brightness;
snug inside with words, warm tea, our own singular warmth shared.
Our kittens don’t notice the snow – their world, us, loud toys
across the floor. Maybe they can’t see white or anything past normal conditions.
A white-trimmed tree sways like a cobweb, snowy
breeze pushes through an early winter.
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