She never cried, she only look on.
 The  spots of the shadow cat faint like the reflection of a jaguar in the blackest lake. It placed its dew claw on the girl's temple and the other paw on her shoulder and nuzzled its face in the warm flesh of her neck and took what meat there was to be pulled from the girl's bones. She never cried, she closed her eyes.

Windmills

Walking among the old windmills,
I saw a young boy struggle against the wind
His coat was short, his legs were thin

I could not see his face behind his arms,
But in that storm I knew him then-
He did not cry, he did not frown

The windmills turned a faster pace,
The wind picked up as in a race
And lifted him, revealed his face

I caught his eye, and knew him then -
And made amends with him,
The boy I'd never see again

The night the windmills raced the wind
I saw a young boy struggling
His coat was short, his legs were thin.

Walking down the street and admiring the houses, one forgets the possibility of such ordinary tragedy as doctors losing their medical licenses, or promising young men sliding into cruel sleepy cowards.