Goodman’s Garden

Where did they all go? Thickets of love and pain rustle in a dry light and skeins of corvidae traipse to a dusk roost.

Time is a flip book. Lift your dear hand and feel the pages purr as years fan by in their lost variegations

of green, gold, brown, and an old cat, white as a child’s Christmas, trots a careful way through his once kingdom.