39944276-0c53-4486-8c88-5dcbca75e708by Jessica Hopkins04 Apr 2020

streaks of sunlight against
your striped fur.

shadows made of shapes,
moving. these tiny specks

of life, in a world confined —

in a world defined by walls, and words
and slow starts.

There is no new

— dawn —

is sunlight against your small whiskers,
your breath
in sighs

in cycles (reminiscent)
of possibility.