Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes

A cat called Raymond

Glorious day slips into the pocket of the night,
owl-calling in deep turquoise hues,
etched lace-black at the tree edges,

a time for owls, foxes, badgers and cats.

We had a cat once, that walked out
nights like these, with a spring tang in the air,
and grass tall and lush. He’s walking still.