A Poem For Sleeping Cats
Yellow lamps illumine closed eyes
yet shed a pale light upon black noses.
There are unsynchronized tail twitches
there are breath-blown whiskers.
Then there are the bodies
the sleek or fluffy, the trans-gendering
of their eclectic, electric souls
forms that can stretch to a feline infinity,
each one is a varied shade of languid.
Their limbs run like rivers
in an ocean of stillness.
They are yours; they are mine,
but they dream not for us
but we for them.
We are doors for each other
both entrances and exits.
The litter box our sacred calling,
to labor as one.
We look through the same windows
see sparrows dancing with garden tigers -
purr together.
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