At the end 
of the day
as my room
is warmly bathed
in the dust 
of setting sun
all ever else 
that is spied 
atop my bed 
glows with gold
except for eyes 
those are emerald 
and set in
lids of alabaster 

Like a mongrel
or feral cat
out there somewhere 
and seldom seen 
rarely known frequently 
avoided I roamed 
oh sure yes
some have tried 
but walls and 
moats long ago 
dug and erected 
kept most out
but now here
in this city 
for no good 
reason besides kindness 
I’m cared for
no longer invisible 
I am one 
of a pack
a part of

It is 
the simple 
tasks that 
tickle my
mind for 
so much 
of life 
is complex
come let
us do 
nothing now 
and be 
as quiet 
as snow

Like bubbles 
in glass
or bath
dreams go 
they rise
tickle tease
and fall 
and every
so often 
one pops 
on the 
tip of
nose making 
you smile 

I prefer broken 
things clocks that 
chime late chipped 
dishes thread bare
furniture I celebrate 
them and their 
very own way
for aren’t we
you and me 
a bit slow
a little chipped 
and definitely worn
and aren’t we
all beautifully unique