| Unfooted, 2 AM The little three-legged cat Sits under the hedge, Blinks Licks a good paw. Here is the white eye, the knowing. It floats over her head, It also blinks. In the dark The ankle is a holy thing, unfooted, The neat flesh and virgin bone Only a firefly, a nightlight That sends your own head home, In this, no desert, but close, Where we have learned to drink, pretending we don't know The road winding away from home Only leads back again As a dog attends to a wound, All lying brightly. |