Dawn Potter: Hearth Song

Nevertheless, blindly, we smile:

and again our ancient vision

sponges paint and sunlight,

our ears prick at the stuttering

clock, the hiss of tires on pavement.

Blindly,

a thought tumbles down

the back stairs into the shadowed

kitchen. Let us watch the white cat

sink his teeth into a throat.

His beauty ripples like water.

Copyright 2017 Dawn Potter

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