StarCat/CatStar

She doesn't jump, only rises,
and though he chases, shouting,
gesticulating like a madman,
hairy and distraught,
she elevates up and up out of sight.
He leaps and snatches in the desperation
of sudden death, a goal line stand,
and grasps—not pyritic heel or mikado neck,
but only remainders, cold and sharp—
the tip of an elbow, shoulder blade.
An express train thunders by
in chest-compressing rush,
the labyrinthian web of streets
and alleys of his iron city on the Inland Sea
too insignificant to snare
the grandest of these passing plans.
Sparks of electricity
crackle in the descending night,
leaving quasistellar remnants
in a mist of impossible hope.
The room rocks to and fro
and he stops in the panic
of Is this the Big One?
to fold his handkerchiefs
into neat little squares.
I Flew From Them
I follow from station to store
an ancient stream
concreted
canalized
cannibalized
inches of former self longing
for the Grand March to join
the salty tears of the last ice age,
overwhelmed