the high pitch of desperation

apple and i walking to the car
singing the song in the morning rain
sing softly to bring in the day
all by yourself
or with a friend right there next to you
sing softly to bring in the day
just be yourself
no one can take that away from you
while the golds of all the dried things

almost shine against the gray grays of sky
how i tug at the door of the big green mailbox
that has been sealed shut by 
the rain-turned-ice/rain
the high pitch of desperation 
in mama cat’s meows
on the other side of the door
on a seven degree night
gibbous the incredibly shrinking cat
with all his spirit intact
taken into whitehouse hospice care
purring ferociously in his spot on the couch
near the warmth of the woodstove