Not Yet Evaporated

Public agencies to water
lawns in the early hours
before it all rushes
off. Evidence of afternoon showers

completes redundant
circles she dodges

on her walk
home. It was silver puddle
nonsense till
the blood returned.

Who Is This Voice

—sounds female—who
commands my attention
the way the dead

vines outside my window attract
hearty northern birds
and squirrels to the rummage,

demand that my indoor cat take
his instinctive position as hunter?

A stillness so loud

it wakes the early winter
in me to watch. Who?