Seven from Sangan River Meditations

(i)

Our cat is up the tree again; I hear her cry over the lonely tattering of prayer flags worn to transparency by the wind. I try tempting her down with heart minced the way she likes it, still warm from the gutted body of the deer. I build a bridge from our roof to the end of her branch so she can pad across and I can rescue her.

But no, it’s as if she clings to the high dying hemlock because she has something she wants me to see. Later, with the moon rising I climb back onto our roof with my flashlight, her eyes, two shiny plum pits summoning me. She is happy now that I have come just to sit patiently and watch from this height the river empty into the sea.

(ii)

The first...