Cat Slowing to Vanishing Point
At a convergence of stairs
our aging cat (an Escher spirit)
motionless and gray
sits staring at his water bowl
intent on some inner reflection
a gentle-pawed daughter of Elysium?
perhaps some feline narcissism?
he sits, a mewless truncated statue
of his former self, alone inside
his silent wilderness.
We count the hours his frozen
highness rests, has rested, may yet
rest on, resurrecting possibly some
hidden clump of high grass, fangs,
blood, hunger poised as stone
to pounce a sparrow pecking seeds.
We pass by. Not far away
our bathroom mirror stares
blankly back, counting its own
Outside our sculpture
stirs on cue, softs into an elderly
lope down to the kitchen.
Even condemned prisoners must eat.
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© Johnmichael Simon