In the cloud-grayed August morning, I let the cat out
and he crouched on the porch in front of a glass bowl
and lapped quickly at the water it held. It was the same
faucetwater I poured last night into the cat dish
inside, at least I think, but what I don’t know is how he can taste
the midnight wind, the tang of bugsong,
the glaze of dew, the bourbon burn of damp porch wood.
He drinks deep and quick, trying to taste
a star still captured under its surface.
Can we stop just for a moment
and notice the needlework
of fresh rain from a new storm
stickling on the windshield, too small
to slug slowly down the slick curve
of glass, and instead remain suspended,
perfect beads of sky-kissed water?
Let’s wait for a minute and watch them,
the closest you can get to something
appearing out of thin air, a miracle,
before we go inside the gray medical building
where everything will change.
Devon Neal (he/him) is a Bardstown, KY resident who received a B.A. in Creative Writing from Eastern Kentucky University and an MBA from The University of the Cumberlands. He currently works as a Human Resources Manager in Louisville, KY. His work has been featured in Moss Puppy Magazine, Dead Peasant, Paddler Press, MIDLVLMAG, and others. TWITTER BLUE SKY
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