Waiting With the Cats

Waiting with the Cats: The alley cats are playing their tune tonight; I can hear them outside of my front door. They sing into the biting air, And the wind carries their voices like foreign objects in mid flight. They fascinate me. And not because they are feline, But rather because they sing to my soul. They resurrect the dying art that feeds me. Like Muddy Waters, and his sliding guitar, They both make beauty out of licking their wounds. I fear that by letting myself fall into their trance, I may never come back alive. I will be a zombie wandering into the dead of the night. I will cover my heartbeat with a worn pair of shoes, And wait for him, Wait for him, As if that’s all there’s to do.