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.