aka – Why do they do that?
Lifting its face up, the Cat sniffed the sky;
then, closing its eyes, becoming “the why…”
Perched on a thin branch, the Blue Jay MUST see
as he turns his head back, to look AT me.
Art of the Stare, this narrow black Cat knows well.
It wyrds me out, this inscrutable tell.
The mad Mockingbird is a great linguist;
several voices “within” except for English.
When the wind blows the tall green grass’s bending,
But the quiet Rabbit stays put – hiding.