Black Cat

A ghost, though invisible, is still like an object
In your sight your fingers can knock on, echoing; but here
Within the thick black fur, your best gaze
Will be soaked up and totally vanish:

Like a foraging vagrant with neither love nor a roof
She sleeps wherever she can, afraid of people and hard to catch
Protesting when caught but gets taken home and feels
Baffled and nervous despite the lack of harm.


She seems to hide all day, sneaking out when nature calls
Not used to having a loving home, like an audience
She can look over her people mysteriously, and uncertain,
And curl up to sleep, staying hidden until hungry.

When awake, she turns her face to yours.
And with a shock, you see yourself, inside the
golden amber of her eyes still, like a snowflake.
Then one strike and the home is gone and she ends up
In a cage with similar cats.