All night the the lonely tiger has been rubbing his fur against my window. At moments he pauses, quietly, to stare in with his large fountain eye. He presses his sharp claw against the floorboards, gently scraping my ankles like wildfire brush. His lips pull up against the pink stucco revealing the midnight grin to the shadows. Then, he pounces toward the sky, whipping his tail violently, leaving the air stunned.
We breathe...until his muscular legs slowly pass again, each paw print strategically placed, each movement painstakingly planned.
The night is restless; he is searching for an open door. We are turning inward.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
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