de rigeur
Someone else's moon is shining in my back door,
peeking round the lintel, reaching in with
thin fingers. It fingers the counter lightly
and moves on. The cats chase it as it rolls,
glowing into the dining room with an insouciant bounce.
This moon that is not mine speaks.
But I can't understand it.
One of the cats races up with someone else's moon
in his mouth, drops it at my feet trilling.
I try to throw it out the window. It comes back.
I finally put it in the corner. Alien thing.
It giggles to itself, all night long.
I am beginning to fear it.
7/27/00