The eye of night sits watching <br />and waiting, catching the cat <br />who, poised and so proper on boxes <br />and bricks, is tracking a rat <br />in the alley. <br /> <br />Neon cuts streaming down <br />streets ever gleaming like Sunset <br />and Vine, disguising the pain <br />of a name now stuck on the stoop, <br />longing to move as strangers go by. <br /> <br />The dim city speaks, typing <br />her meaning for anyone leaning <br />an ear to the ground, softly touching <br />and tenderly taming the <br />tap, tap, tap of the rain.<br /><br />Lori Boulard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cat-s-eye-2/
