Last Days of the Black Cat: poem

By: Cathy Sky

 

Blackie, with your amber
Far-knowing gaze,
Sweet as wild honey
Or soft morning rain —
Frail old lady,
Grey flecks salt your obsidian coat;
You are will itself in furry form.

 

Cautious friendship:
A nudge or two on my bare feet,
You are a whisp, a brush past my calf.

 

Black shadow,
Bellows – breathing
An effort for you,
It’s not long now.

 

The long grasses will whisper and part
The way clean and beckoning
You will enter
On small feet
Your black pencil tail tracing the air
In a tempo regal and calm,
Right as the sigh of leaves.

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