Her death is not as painful as her beauty:
in dying she withdrew like other cats
and left no trace but side-glanced phantoms
grace and poise remembered arch and slow:
as down the grassy path I saw her sit
two years ago in a patch of sun her gold
makes aching limbs seem gentle by compare
and sometimes a purse down the hall just
at the edge of vision: pear shaped and amber
there you are I was wondering where —
And is it a dream or nightmare that
grows out of such small pleasures
as remembered soft purring on the pillow
or the gentle brush against my leg
claw touching my lip to say feed me
my eyelid to say come and play child
The time you stalked the edgy
heron ten times your size
would have had him too
but for the errant butterfly
that waved before your eyes
and had you dancing away
across the grass with fairies
I want to say goodbye
but do not know the tongue
never did
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