In the night, when I awake, the stillness
stops my breathing and I listen
for the world-danger
Waiting in the quiet of my family home
And in myself, my small thoughts.
The flair of snow leopards strengthens me.
The next night, light dying, never quite
Alone, William Stafford taunts my weakness,
Resolved and peaceful
As he is, laying early morning,
Writing on the sofa,
Turned inward to turn outward.
A snow leopard stares into my late night eyes,
Coaxing this small listener along a thread,
Safely to myself.
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