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a five-haiku walk

by JBMulligan


The black cat at night

among tree-shadows flickers

and shifts: a candle.

Its voice, in the breeze,

flutters and trembles, the slow

strum of a guitar.

The winter's coming.

It rubs the legs of mountains

under Northern stars.

Gathering moments

with the body, not the soul:

good wood for a fire.

Once more, the cat says

the word that to cats means: good.

It says it again.