Shade

                       Shade

The quiet, silent things send echoes through

Each other.  Rosebush leaves above the tom

That naps beneath them are more quiet, strew

Their silence down, reverberating calm

On nearly silent breathing through his two

Pink nostrils held by silent fur of white.

Reverberating silence from the blue

Sky far above adds silence from a height

More deep than unheard breathing under blooms.

He does not understand that there is more

And deeper silence from the nearby tombs

Of other sleeping cats who napped before.

  He need not think of them.  Their dreaming breath

    Went years ago.  Their shadowing is death.

Phillip Whidden