THE CAT’S MEOW
The whistle of the wind
Between the carpet and the
doorsill.
A trembling branch of yew,
Ripe with undripped rain.
The bark of a dog, in a fog
that is dark
With smoke from a neighbor’s
chimney.
Outside, you stared at the
door;
When I let you in, you
growled.
The wind is high enough to
caper
Through the leafless treetops,
And low enough for you to
crouch
And sniff it under the door.
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