I must say
while you were away
I found the body
of our cat
without breath
cold and still
as the fog
flushed with
the rose light
of dawn
when his heart
was troubled
I counted as
his soft belly rose
and fell to be sure
the medicine
had settled him
and he slept
curled at our feet
another night
it was the same
this time crouched
on the road’s
shoulder in
the insistent chill
until only certainty
remained praying
the breath he had
lost would find
another body as gentle
I buried him
under the camelias
where he often lay
in the summer sun
without a glimmer
of regret
for spending
entire days
lazy with love
of warm fur
now the grace
of his limbs
knotted stiff
and unmistakable
and the truth
I already knew
lay at my fingertips
again: we are given
spirit only
briefly
Frederick Livingston
Frederick Livingston plants seeds grounded in ecology and experiential education. He is the author of "The Moon and Other Fruits", along with numerous works found in literary magazines, scientific journals, and public spaces. His most recent title, "Trees are Bridges to the Sky", won the Prism Prize for Climate Literature.
Beautiful.