A couple of new poems I have recently written. One longer, one shorter.
In the Last Act
i.
Ending.
The moon clunks its way across the sky
scrapes through the wispy clouds
falters when it should hustle
A clumsy top-heavy misshapen circle
stutter-stepping and catching itself
again and again
an all-night-long kind of again
It is no more useless than usual.
No better, either.
Ending.
ii.
Ghost.
The black cat
nudges open the ruined door
slips across the dark yard
invisible but for his white paws
fading in and out of the gaps
between the shredded moonbeams
that lie exhausted on the ground.
Ghost.
iii.
Exhale.
Maybe the moon is weary
Maybe it is not what it once had been.
Maybe the cat exists
not now but in my memory.
Maybe
Here in the last days
I no longer see well
but I feel
and I know.
The mystery is still here. Still here.
Exhale.
1/22/21
*******
In the Cold
I’m the street sign
you encounter
in the rain
right before dark
illegible.
I refuse to help you.
1/12/21
Claudia McGill Writes Poetry, Did You Know That? 
I like especially the cat stanza.
I was thinking of a cat that hung around my grandmother’s house (she had an intense dislike of cats and would have never let it near her, but I kind of put myself in her environment, if not her preferences, in this poem, while I was writing it, and I have no idea why). Anyway, for me, cats are mystery spirits all right.
They are indeed.
I love the atmosphere of this poem. It could be interpreted as a little spooky, what with moonlight and cats, but I find it calming and soothing. I like the dark and moonlight though – and cats!
Thank you. For some reason this scene was set in my grandmother’s house/yard, though she hated cats and had no time for imagination or daydreaming for herself. I did a lot of both, though, at her house, so there was plenty of room for me to be doing it!