Wide Open

He left his mind open wide
like a window onto the night
and all manner of things came in:
mosquitoes, sneak thieves,
stray bullets and ominous clouds
all came streaming in.
A cat, black as ink and just as fluid
stepped delicately over the sill
and then, just as delicately stepped back out.
A cat won’t stay in a place barren of soul.
Wastelands are not for them.
When he opened the window
not only did all manner of things come in
but one particular thing went out
and that thing was him.
His soul slipped free like a Peter Pan shadow.
No soap, no needle and thread and careful stitch,
no Wendy, can reel him in. — Annette Marie Smith