for Oliver Nelson-Nelson
My gold cat is to the sun of suns
as a finch is to its branch
or the mirror to an empty room.
He shines undisturbed when no one watches
and repletes the air with feline grace
My gold cat is a feckless lord, a god
among the lesser orders who rules
by paw, by purr, by shining mien.
His blinking eyes shutter his renown. His frown
unmasts and scatters the unwary hand.
Fools approach at their peril.
My lord of cats is a great light to mortals.
He stalks the everlasting question
that lurks in the next room and the one beyond.
Always at rest and always melodic, he quests
for the simple totality, the nap of its legend
its stars entranced.
After the hunt what can follow?
To start up in wrath or roll in his prank?
My cat of cats is a light above all others.
His heathen eyes burn through walls
and pounce at dangling string. They are my sweet
owners nor are there others.
My fawn-light cat is to all else
as the meaning of life
is to green-grass. Run past water
past cloud, past tree. On bent knee
you too shall join your prayer
to his mighty purr.