Tuesday morning after Japan, and a bumblebee

like a hot cross bun.

At the opened window Spring

ends the long heist.

The heat-seeking cat finds the sun

relaxing in her basket.

Rocket seeds kindle

in pots of compost.

I bring in the last logs.

A pointy vole, a mouse, a fresh molehill.

Did you ever see a mole? Once, the cat,

faux-drowsy in the greenhouse,

cuffed up a raw newborn, and another,

then another, and another.

Oenone Thomas