
X
Cat is grown old,
and black fur
has new depths of grey
that catch
a drop of water
she splashes
from the chipped Wedgwood.
X
X

X
I trip
running across the bare floor
as a splinter catches my heel
and I call out
x
Don't leave
because I am hurt.
X
X

X
The bone china cup
tips over
spilling tan coffee
x
into a puddle
that looks like Jesus
x
x
X
Post script:
All of these poems were written at least three years ago.
Already published in my book of poetry, "Two Ghosts".
No pictures attached. Just now, while browsing for some
appropriate pictures, you can imagine my surprise when
I stumbled upon the photo of the spilled coffee. Now how
can that be, ready made? What a confluence of energy!