Hilary Sallick
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The poem is not the words though the poem is made of words
by Hilary Sallick This morning a silver cat appeared outside my window its second visit in two daysIt stepped from the roofof my neighbor’s shedto the trunk of the mulberry where it clungagainst gravity raptby the nearness of a squirrel downward-hanging easyin its tree The catheld on and met those eyes with its ownThen the Continue reading
