Does she hear my visions?
Yes, she does.
Does she travel with me?
By my side.
She rests her head upon me
Even as I write
She calls to rooftop angels
Fearing flight
Padding, stroking through the night
She waits, as I arrive
Pen in hand
I see her pout
Comfort comes
Though not without a fight
No sense in struggle
She’s a pusher
Crack to crack
My book and she
If she could
I would
In darkness
Be.