The Cats
The Cats
The cats don’t know there’s trouble
in the world. Their job is to look graceful
in disturbing times. The golden hour
is upon us, late light streaming
from the mountain ridge
and a chill in the air.
To lick their paws
in sympathy with those
who sleep on the streets, to stretch against
the window surrounded by an outdoor glow.
No borders for them, they open every cupboard
and occupy the highest places
they can reach.
Dreams flow
through their limbs while they sleep.
Nothing earthly matters
then, it’s a world of fish and backyard doves
in there. Elections never happened,
the pursuit of happiness translates
into Spanish, to carry concealed
means a mind full of ideas.
Just look
at how the more mature one occupies
a chair with regal demeanor, how the younger
one has all his outlaw spirit
still intact. The desert winter
sharpens itself under moonlight. They curl
into the moment and obey nature’s order
to serve the gods of elegance and sleep without pity.