Writing

When you wrote your book
The cat  lay across your shoulders like a prayer shawl
Through your window, you saw the trees
The Blackbird sang.
Now the chair is empty and   our cat has died
How could you leave me?
I’m lonesome  in that room
The birds are nesting again
The sun is hot
I’ve not opened the desk drawers
But I found your tie on my bed
Where can you be?