Always dear but curving close to the door, cats like this can peel the light off a star--
slip it slyly under an eye, & still sleep
A calico cat, e.g., dreams and moves outdoors,
ears smartly smoothed flat to the head, mouth the usual moist pastiche of lips & razors
If she appears to be a bit too august now, after a splendid backyard shunt, and sits purring,
million to one she's got the dismembered jowls, tails to prove it, the grip relaxed--
freeing by degrees the bloody jay beneath
A sated cat's a very odd thing, indeed
& lies in odd places:
on vents, in closets, over tawny pillows And even as she lifts herself up from my lap,
it's to peer stonily in direction of the door-- sleepy, wild, free & every bit the
equal of me
who am just too big to eat