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.