Household Sphinx

The robin sings outside our window at five
and chatters its gleeful, joyful dewdrop jive.
In morning light the plane trees turn green,
and maple and white azaleas preen
for sleepy commuters with dream-cleansed eyes
as the vixen finds its den where the cub cries.

I saw an island rendezvous at night
with a sad woman burdened by the weight
of hope, but broken promises without end
made sea surf and spume her only friend.

The ground hog waddles across the wet lawn
and rabbits hop to graze on daisies, drawn
by invisible threads to the hunkered cat,
our household Sphinx exacting blood and fate.

(c) copyright 2012 Charles David Miller. All rights reserved.