Thursday, 31 May 2018

the cat will see you now


the cat glides under my shadow 
a cadaver-cold-nosed ankle balm
her woollen tail sliding dark-ward 
beckoning down

or 

statue still upon a hare’s breath
head tilted in question to my answer
she looks straight through me 
to where the truth is

or 

as a storm ferris wheel
and wound up tight 
she ricochets off the quarrel walls 

and 
  then
as puppet-master 
she unstrings the swan-lake day
and curls to sleep and sleep
to purr the night away

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