Last night the animals 

beneath her window 

crept out of hiding 

to comb the dirt 

from each other's fur.



Rising to watch, 

she discovered the lilacs 

lit from below by ivory vinca. 

The street on the other side 

of the trees continued 

to contain its passing cars; 

tenderly her teeth 

let her tongue rest 

against their curving backs.



Tonight when she lies 

in bed again, 

she will remember 

the one kind thing 

her grown daughter said today 

after weeks of scrutiny,



and the moment at work 

just now, when a stack 

of Day-Glo folders 

cascaded over her desk, 

thrilling the white cubicle

with their descent.