Reading Oliver’s “Owls,” I’m taken
By the line, “great blue herons,
Thin and melancholy,” as my

Cat named Bojangles,
Plump and affectionate,
Reaches up to confess his

Desire to connect with me. Next
Or perhaps again I should say, the
Whistling wind proclaims its presence

Or maybe that it’s moving along, as
I finally realize the horse out the
Window, strong and humbly

Nibbling the grass, while
Leaves are blown this
Way and that. And

My cat returns for a pat,
A hug, and for me to say,
“He’s such a good baby boy.”