1000 Pulses
The window illuminates a cat-the snow falls,
the wedding white colored sky
is cut with the trees whose arms, fingers
gather the immaculate flakes.
On the chipped edge of the window,
the sleeping cat is curled into its body
like a ringworm, or the snake; if it rattles,
raises its head to stick its face
towards a sea of hesitation, the woman
cannot extend her hand to touch the snake,
nor comfort the cat. For when she touches,
her shadow is split and spread
as if it is sliced by the speed
of 1 billionth
of 1 billionth
of a second:
like the nanoparticles that rush
to penetrate rock. The stones
when crushed long ago
became the sands
of a time-worn shore
of a tranquil Mayan-like Sea,
that covered the entire Earth,
until the Spirits decided to have the ocean
recede and allow the Earth to birth lands
that will collect footprints,
no matter how fleeting. And the waters
reflect the light of the "Heart-of-Sky"
that released the quiet yearning snowfall,
on an anxious Mid-winter afternoon.
Copyright © Jennifer Cahill | Year Posted 2021
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