Evening Grace
To Marianne
janine canan
The cat perches on the window sill
over banks of bright peach fog.
Piano melodies lilt on the radio.
A dog howls plaintively.
The cards show a death -- midstream
the scorpion bit the camel it rode, and drowned.
In the violet light I take the chalice
and let the Graces dance.
A light breeze lifts my hair
and strokes my face, dissolving the cruelty
inflicted by thinking I was the author of fate.
The cat contemplates the orange and blue evening.
