There’s an orange-yellow morning sun
light in every story, peeling perfectly on its own
though not quite how we expect
the house cat leaps onto the table
draws three perfect circles
one way, turns and then goes three
the other. He knows
I’m watching. Meanwhile
after a long night, an airplane
carries someone’s beloved far away.
The local skunk saunters through my yard
like a drunken grandfather, toward home.