Twilights

Again, evening over Sandycove. And again, something about the sky, the cloud-light. Lavenders. And the windows, the conspiring suburban skyline. Here's something that comes to mind, from my second collection, The Sky Road':

Happiness: Three Species

1
is a scuffed, touchy old cat,
at home as any household god but – if you reach to stroke it –
liable to abruptly uncurl and leave the room.

2
is sacred, like the good health of the child;
to be glanced at sideways, not mentioned, for fear
of its opposite number impatiently ringing the doorbell.

3
is in passing, the sudden gate that swings
off an avenue of the senses: night, a foreign suburb
enshrined in one lit window, telling you where you are.