You are the kindest creature! Cradled
you will not let me see the eye
that's skipped a season, frosting.

All my dreams are clogged there, dull
dish of milk. The sallow moon locked
in cycle, dead ash of numbers.

All my wishes whisper to a fizzle
you hear as animal sound. Indistinguishable.
"Hope" as foreign to you as "death."

One early ripening. Alert to life
you purr, part of you gone to winter.

1982 John Goss