Through the weeping household stalked a small black cat—just past kittenhood, and more gamine than gangly. She darted past the skirts of a grieving wife as the woman buried her face in a ... [+]
so well-rounded,
gleams above.
we watch,
comment on her beauty,
admire her.
we do not doubt her presence
each night, taking for granted
her shine
but there are cracks
in her fullness.
a dark side
we do not criticize,
and when she wanes,
we are not afraid
that the dark will remain forever.
No,
she will rise again
to show us hollow impressions
on her thick surface
and still, we will call her beautiful.