Ok enough about the impermanence
we hate.
I will tell you about my cat.
The stray lost himself
one summer.
What a pushover.
Morning kibble, some stroking
and he's here for good
With gratitude that’s ferocious--
razor teeth and claws, meaning
to be playful but draws my blood.
Yet it's a comfort to be followed
by his tender eyes and eager paws.
A bounty to have my death-bound skin
licked and purred on, even if it bleeds a bit.
To know another pair of ears perk up
when there's that banging of the wind at night.
And sweet, sweet comfort to rise
from my chair in twos.
