A cloud is tearing itself apart slowly.
There is a couple quarelling next door.
Their dog I’ve named Lyca tries to sleep
On my welcome mat, which says

“Come Together!” woven in cursive
With a single lace. A passing car below
Screeches into a halt. Then a woman,
Probably late in her life, steps down

Hysterical, saying I’m so sorry, I
Didn’t mean to. She keeps repeating
That, while the cat’s yowl next door
Grows audible, long, and unchanging,

And fades as light slowly gathers
To a few spots in the sky,
To the candle on the dining table.
That night, I heard Lyca faintly

From under my covers, her long drone
Making its way into a shady place
Under a cupboard, weaving itself
As a warm reply.