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Mr. Quija

de Bruce Cockburn

She is passing in a warm breeze
bars of light that cross the floor
one smoke-gray, curled, tiny feather
skips aside

By her middle hang the keys
made to open any door
even the one that lets in the cold wind
from outside

She lives in a house of colour
guarded by cats three in number
and one great dog of gentle manner
in among the trees

Silence
carries
no apprehension here
in the warm sun
by the window sill
i can just sit still
and watch her go by...

Queen of field and forest pathway
understands the speech of stones
she weaves peace upon her loom
life's mistress

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