is the spot I crawl into
to get away from the noise
and the fray. Cats cannot
follow me in. They sit outside

chagrin. It's my little nook
where I read my book, as I sip
my cherry wine penning every
line. The only noise I hear is the

whirring of the fan. I'm a velvet
mole burrowing in my hole. It's where
the lilacs bloom, in the floorboards of
my room. The ceiling grows as I

doze in my rocking chair. Cats
peep at me through the hole. They can
not see me as they squint. Blowing
my horn, they take off and sprint.