Mornng Rain and Storm
The gentle patter of morning rain
against the window, is like a cat’s
padded paw tapping to come in.
The spell of sleep is too seductive
and I roll over and fall into a dark crevice
of dreams that burst into a frenzied
fury of bats – fragmented and incoherent
surreal permutations of my long and varied
life’s experiences.
Meanwhile, the cat has become
an angry lion, but I am too far
below to hear his growls.
Awake, the cat is gone. I can’t recall
my dream and have no recollection
of the lion’s threatening presence.
I see only paw prints of large puddles
filled with images of scattering clouds
and hear only weak distant roars.
Copyright © Maurice Rigoler | Year Posted 2024
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