Ode to My Cat, Sarah

I often wonder what it’s like to quiver

slightly, when fingers knead precisely right,

to lounge and lie about with belly white

and wide, exposed, paws that tread–deliver

the hands of a praying nun, stretched to hum

on a quilted bed, downy chin muffled asleep

in a downy neck, with hair ruffled and heaped

like thistles in a winter garden, body numb.

I gaze at your blue eyes as they slowly sink

half-closed in murmurs, woozy eyes so dazed.

Lips in a half smile, teeth pointed and aired,

you purr slow sheet music with hardly a blink.

Is there meditation in your gaze

or just a kind of love, hushed and quite rare?

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