I fear for the things outside

I fear for the things outside, on such a night as this
when the snow has a voice through the window,
a sorrow in forty below

the small mottled beige things in winter, that sing and feed
with such ferocity you know it keeps them slim,
and the blacks and the grays, that even in summer know nothing
but find and survive - cross six lanes of traffic, by all means
but find.

Where are they all tonight?
Clinging in their needly homes, shaking in their bark
praying for morning and kindness?

Perhaps it is not the nature of creature to ask
why am I here and why does it hurt so
just get the fuck on with the job

while we languish in the pining of knowing we might
know and
never knowing.

Robin Hannah
Ottawa, ON