The moon is too much for the cat. The keen eyes turn slate, a careless slouch Replaces the studied artistry, frozen flash Before the kill. And the sideways sculpture at a whisker's touch.
Cats are dumb when they walk in the night.
My cat, I know, I have seen her sleeping thoughts Tense and stalk savagely in the night's peace. But cats need no language to do that. The black train pulls in at the platform, Hissing into silence like hot steel in water. It is good, after a desperate journey, To rest a moment with your perils upon you. The long rails recline into a distance Where tomorrow will come before I know it.