cat now casts devices after shadows while they themselves follow lightly though there is not a candle nor do they hold a star to her fire doesn’t flicker them in corners for there is not a fire, nor does night find them flies, or even content them with mice it is not enough to watch it is not hard to endure, it is not enough while night could be more sure but she doesn’t touch, she paces like the cat now in the dark, now mourning a discovery of transience, now the anxious shadow, or now the light motion that cat makes, aching from an unknowing, a wake-up through a pane, that far cry on the feather, or was it really there cat now stretched out again, sleepless for the rest of tangency in the balance, and supports less, her body, nervous touch, what isn’t there, is settled.

15 April 1973