the small white cat, nervous, crawls
toward two much larger Canada geese
standing fouling the sun-weathered dock
wood streaked white, extruded heaps
oozing dark or dry & crumbly, a squawk
as high collars shuffle leathery feet
ruffle feathers, the pair breasts off
planks to water, slow float on gleam
behind low branches, a great blue coughs
cormorant hoodlums gather steam
beat their wings — panicked fish are slaughtered
herons, egrets, pelicans gulp the leavings
down in the mud the cat, of all, the smallest
dabs at shells, stones, salt water
En Train
by Marie Ponsot
“Paris in 20 minutes.” The old excitement
arrives on time as suburbs flash by,
ugly only to look at, lit, densely well meant.
Non-human nature behind us in the dark, I am shy
with longing. We switch to the rings of human intent.
I prepare myself with caution like a quick reply.
City twin to my scarred city on my continent,
Paris gleams, catacombed with greed. Its stained sky
rosy as with deity at midnight is my light tent.
Live sounds, ground small, pulse from it to electrify
roads that join cities into circuits of consent.
Geography is personal, a map whereby
every journey maps home ground. Confident
we’re earth-borne, we can’t get lost. I enter the event.
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