Omens
A cat on a windowsill fills
the glazed eyes of the house with meaning.
Twigs lie in the dust, curved and peeled bare
like the bleached bones of a small animal.
A painted steel fire-escape curves
like the spine of someone turning to look.
Wind ruffles thick ivy,
flashing sunlight in fitful morse.
A tree clings to its dead leaves
with the blind clutch of a sleeper.
The old man in his lawn chair
is content with empty hands.
(Previously published in Contemporary Verse 2 magazine, Summer 2009 issue)