Crackle of dried leaves by the back door
longing scratch, home, found it’s place
within the throes of autumn.
Fire cast a longing shadow, a cat rug bound, sprawled elegantly –
pawing in the dark,
dreaming of mousing and heroic acts
of daylights making.
We drift, teetering on new beginnings
lives entwined yet disjointed,
yearning for our place
within a picture we have not yet painted,
sighing within blurred lines
and I don’t know why.