From the Rock in Fort Tryon

I hear the soft strains of music fill the fleeing morning,
my face blurry in the candle-lit dawn. I turn inside,

facing the room where my love and I have lain…

…and see the cats, cross the roof, mad in love, scream into the drainpipes they sit in,

and it is I who am ready

to listen, never tired, never sad, never hidden.