Fast
I lay my hands against his fur. Its black
Glows, glossed, on light green of our duvet top,
The counterpane. My fingers warm his back
And side. They warm me, too. My cat’s gone plop
To sleep in black and white and green. This calm
Goes flowing back and forth between us. He
Has gone too sleep past purring in the balm
Of love I give him. Backwards lies his knee
Beyond all botheration. In his doze
He’s left behind all worries. In his dreams
He doesn’t twitch in eye or paw. His nose
Is peaceful pink, far gone from mouse-hunt schemes
But then, no hint quite why, he stands and quits,
Abandons me, fast. I love him to bits.
~ Phillip Whidden