For the NaPoWriMo prompt.
When we write a thing
of joy or grief
a falling leaf
an absence beneath
the roof
the way the light plays
on still water and water rippling
insect-stippling
or the slashed
cross-hatched rain
across the window again
when we write the words of you and me
we
the cat lying in the sun
an unknown whose life is done
when we write the song of birds
and lamentations near and far
they are
poems.
