I put on my beret and coat, grabbed the clippers
and ventured out into the back yard
in search of branches.
Rain: a mist illuminated in porchlight,
each droplet holding its own tiny lamp.
(The cat crazy with excitement, fully aware
that this was so completely odd.)
Not much but apple branches,
but perfect with moss and lichen.
I snipped a small bunch: wet!
Dragged my muddy feet in the back door,
cat on my tails, fluffed up and carrying
her own rain in the tips of her furcoat.
Branches to stuff in the bodice
of my vintage red dress, like antlers,
starkly out of place, pinned to a bare wall.