by David Budbill
as collected in Good Poems, ed by Garrison Keillor
The cat sits on the back of the sofa looking
out the window through the softly falling snow
at the last bit of gray light.
I can't say the sun is going down.
We haven't seen the sun for two months.
I am sitting in the blue chair listening to this stillness.
The only sound the occasional gurgle of tea
coming out of the pot and into the cup.
How can this be?
Such calm, such peace, such solitude
in this world of woe.