A distant voice calls her dog.
Barnalby.  Barn for short.
Out the window I see my cat’s foot
on the roof’s beam ‑ and then
his head peaks over the edge.
He hesitates, waiting
for the ground to come near.
One.  Two.  Three
times he looks down,
then thunk, I hear him land
just as I turn away.
And in the distant silence,
(except for the whir of cars
on the highway),
Barnalby has come home.


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