At night I tend to walk the streets alone,
but every now and then I meet a friend
who has but half a tail yet still is prone
to strutting like a diva. She pretends
that meeting me was accidental luck,
that loneliness stays far away from her,
but while I'm out, apparently moonstruck,
She's willing to accompany, confer.
I tell her all about the cat before,
the one who owned my midnights and my love
She tells me she could eat, but still abhors
the dog treats hiding up inside my glove.
We stop our talk and let the silence rise
Like moons and cricket songs in April skies.