Make Good Art.

-Neil Gaiman

Sunday, March 22, 2020

Stillness


Be still he tells me.
His stillness
is blackbird songs.
Mine,
ambulance sirens.
He smells fresh bread breaking
and I,
Ammonia cleaner.
He feels our cat's reassuring purr.
I only her sharp claws.
Be still, he tells me.
I love him enough to try.

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