SURVIVOR

The thick calico cat sat in the wet grass contemplating
rain metamorphosing her fur into shadows, when she cried —
meowing the closed door into flinders; LET ME IN.

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SING PRAISES…

The Black Birds [like a gust of wind] flew in-between the branches —
Their chattering chirps, a Hosanna, to the startling mild climate.
I almost, GLEEFULLY, broke my neck looking up at them.