Liberal portions of sun
releases through an open window
chasing out room shadows
like thieves on the run.
A light teasing wind stumbled into bushes,
stirring leaves like loose sand
sliding over paper.
A cat sits looking out. Birds see him,
calling out warnings. Flying quickly
like passing storms. He watches with
metronome eyes waiting for the moment.
The clock strikes 9. I have to go.
Roger Singer 