Why I Didn’t Write a Poem Today
Because the cat caught sudden
sight of a fly, and I couldn’t keep
my eyes on the screen for watching
his obstinate pursuit of this elusive,
graceful speck, straight up the screen door,
over the kitchen table, onto windowsills and sinks,
then back again for damn near forty minutes.
He didn’t stop
to doubt his methods, or the
worth of his pursuit. He did not
lose focus, or grow pessimistic and fatigued.
Each new sighting
ignited fresh exuberance, and I thought,
been dead a long time now.
Myself, I’ve been careful
for years to hide my joy, to bury
my fires in sand each morning
before entering the glum
din of this world, and I think
of chasing ink across pages
in my own pursuit
of some agile, juicy speck,
grown rich and fat
on equal parts despair and fervor.