The Cat’s Bell
There was a coming to, a thawing.
It was almost empirical
how white thinned to show
bones of a love so holy.
Like snowmelt at thirty-three degrees,
it burnt the flesh free.
There was nothing
more than my own slow exposure,
and I believed I could become
observable even to myself.
Consider the cat who crosses the wet grass
her body part stone part river.
Consider the bell
how its tin bones make a body of air
and how it passes through us.
Prayer was a long pier on which I walked.
Before me the sky appeared to open.