My Brother's Cats

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My brother’s smarty cats

go on walks,

following me in a non straight line,

stopping to smell the dazzling scents,

or climbing

up a succulent tree.

The sister willow trees
we find on our walk,

with twisted lines,

house muskrats that climb

beneath gray roots that scent

the waters of Herrmann pond as surely as a cat.

My brother used to climb

to the top of apple trees,

reaching for branches lined

with fruit.  Bitch, his black cat,

nose in the air, walked,

looking for him by scent.

I planted an Alpine tree.

It grows tall in a layered line,

extending its scented

llmbs like a long walk

with the grace of a cat.

For now, it’s too short to climb.

His dainty cats

beneath the alpine tree

can walk,

their tails, a question mark, a fine line.

I’ll remember my brother as the years climb

to stretches unmarked by his scent.

Today, a gray line

of rain prevents us from taking our walk.

My brother’s furry cats,

their noses twitching with the scent

of dead trees

burning in the fire, dream of climbing.

The Alpine will grow to a tall and sinuous tree

Marking time in an infinite line,

even after the cats and I take our last walk.