by Cornelia Rohde
An imperial Bengal tiger
moves on cottony paws
across the garden of my patchwork dream,
pacing steadily toward me.
Molten eyes like magnets
lock onto mine.
I observe her with suspense
behind clear windows in the living room.
With half a heart I shift the couch
to keep her out. It seems the thing to do,
although not because of fear. I feel only
ease to have her near, and sense
nothing can stand between us
any more, if I, instead,
fling wide the door.