I can see your white legs, walking

in the summer sun, tall and erect

almost running, as if they had a purpose

to go somewhere. You fooled so many men

with your head above the crowd,

and your brown hair

dancing on your shoulders. I watched you

in your flower dress, tall and willowy

searching for a man, and not a master

I guess,

wild cats can’t be caught,

and

I’m writing this

because it’s the only way

I can capture you.

Now, the sparkle on your skin

has faded

and I have gray

in my beard.

We were once, so young

full of dreams—

you were

stepping between the stars.

One thought on “Wild Cats Can’t Be Caught

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