Mist I
Mist hangs onto edges of the river
Like dust under a couch
Mist II
My cat enters, purring
And posing, twisting
Under my petting hand;
She rubs her cheeks on my
Scribbler, leaving her scent
All the while purring
I purr, too; but can’t hear it
Unless I become very silent
Turn off every sense:
I feel my vibration
All the tensions at work
Driving my body into its
Learned helplessness syndrome
And I obey and become ill
Or well and life goes on purring
But I have to listen.
Mist III
Mist still hangs around
Edges of the river
Like a slip showing under a hem.
— August 26, 2006 just after dawn
