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,
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.
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