After

now that human language has died out

other language fills the generous gap

whisper of bloom, susurration of leaf fall

whale warble, coyote chorus, donkey bray

cats on darkened city streets spar & yowl

streams sizzle down ledges across the road

weeks of rain, they say, make freshets of us

water roars through & over breached dams

gurgles through wetlands, cracks concrete

poured by greedy men, yes, men — women

did not ruin the earth — let cities & wars end

governments & coin, genocide & servitude

a trail of smoke from a small fire, a survivor

boiling roots, cracking nuts for her last meal

Telly

frantic little cat, my most insistent cat

when I write you settle in my lap on top of

my laptop, an arching purring ur self, these are

your words, cat speak, body in the bend of mine

face in my face, nose pushing my nose, in & out of

the shower, head wetter than mine, your own towel

between times skidding through the side porch

flying rugs across floors, howling out of sight

until at last you hone your claws on sisal

leap to your high bed where you curl & slump

like your sister, so still upstairs on the spare bed

I think she might be dead, Alice, I say, she bares

her belly, curls to my hand, it’s enough to skip

the romp her downstairs brother lives for

Old Age

old age means having time to notice

every wildflower — chicory, fleabane

bladder campion, mullein & milkweed

tooth- & mother- & mug- & st-john’s-

wort, plus others, each with a name

I could aim to learn — a green spire’s

yellow blossoms, its new name

already gone, I know now I forget

my younger mind ebbs, memories

old & new, this trick or that, the cats

don’t mind, they don’t know things too

for example, why I don’t want my flesh

kneaded by outstretched claws

pressure, puncture, frisson of pain

passage through nothingness to joy