A cat has moved in next door.
White whiskers and a spot at the window.
Lace curtains always closed now stay pinned aside,
for his sleeping and watching perch depends
upon the ever-changing sight of visiting creatures
To the railings and porch boards come jay and squirrel
and crow, large as the cat zeroed in
with green eyes shining in face of black fur.
And lucky for me, this virus-induced foster
and I visit with eyes watching
through two panes of glass.
Provided, of course, no wildlife prevails.
In the new quiet of town,
sound of the bells reaches the house every quarter hour.
The big trees, strange as it seems, have yet to leaf out
like a reminder of the sickness slowing life down
even though spring
is in full swing.