Halfway down the grassy path,
a cemetery cat, a horse chestnut,
a concrete angel. “This is my friend,”
I wrote on blue-lined paper. “Please take
care of her. The tumor-board didn’t help her.
Why did they treat her like that? She has
no mother or father. What others call off-
spring, these were her talismanic poems.
It doesn’t take a lot of strength to hang on.
It takes strength to let go. Please tell that
to the Oversoul.” Then the mommy
cat humped my leg, meowing: Bliss,
loss, trembling, compulsion, desire,
& disease are coffin liquor now.