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Kahlua, princess of fur.Streaks
We've systematically turned the clocks,
digital and otherwise, before we slept,
now we rise...
sun brilliant from the eastern skies.
Streaks across the patio sliding door,
dust gathering, light attracts imperfections,
needs for better applications or attention,
some say ammonia, others newspaper wiping,
there are sprays heavily advertised,
but perhaps clarity was never intended.
Our cat knows better. the searching matters,
what is new, familiarity and additions,
a squirrel, a sparrow on the grass,
doesn't care a bit if moments last,
does what really matter go to fast?
It is her domain, be it a window pane,
attempting continuity, best leisurely,
she stalks at times, looks under eaves,
sublimity defined in being...
could there be more,
this moment, minute, hour?
Returning to my task, in time
I'll slide the weighted glass door,
the flimsy screen too...
find a peculiar method, all my own,
knowing flames enhance the view.
7th April 2002
Author: Roy Schoenberg - Bay Shore, New York, USABack to The Poems of Roy Schoenberg