poem

I like about how our cat sits
with his tail wrapped around
his furry paws while he
watches my dart fall onto
the floor and then attacks
with such alert reflexes
that I’m struck with realizations
that we know so damn little
while talking as though we
know more than a cat

-M. Taggart

Rain

I don’t write about flowers
or love, or the embrace of a lover
because so many
do this so wonderfully
that I would rather read
their version of beauty
than replay mine
Instead I write about
how rain watches me
Eyes dangling, while falling
but cannot speak what is seen
-Who was I to ever think
rain could not see
And yet I step in puddles-
When I finally look down
I see myself in wavering form
for each puddle proves how
wrong I had been

-M. Taggart