Pablo’s Muse

A demon at rest
Ordains his own ablutions
Without betraying his
Awareness
Of our regard
In the night

The visceral range
Of something so vital
That does not move
Does not care
About my night
Or yours

Might be deity
He might be a vision
Of concrete fresh laid
That only he could traverse
Without prints
Right past us

The cat is ever immense
Despite its diminution
Unlike fellow creatures
He makes us small
Like the interest
Of the world

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Response to Pablo Neruda's Cat's Dream