Cat At Night
Whether the night haunts him or as a mask hides him,
No matter, he knows where prey and fear lie in wait.
Poacher whose skill daylight disregards as base cheat,
But whose widened pupils know not of our chasm.
Begotten by chaos to dwell in fields of fright,
He's used to vertigo and aware of its rights.
Across our obsessive fear up and down he strides,
Shy king of a dark realm that we're greatly missing.
Gravity is challenged by his weight of darkness
And his scorn turns to ice the blaze that at him beams,
Impassive torment in a sumptuous slowness
Which behind a sound sleep hides the bound, the fondness
For cushions and for roofs and for eaves -and for dreams.