It seems everything wants to disappear
in your white clouds of cumulus fur.
Even the early summer sky
is tamed to something smooth and un-reflecting.
What doesn’t plunge in
and never reemerge to this place of
And we know that the day can only begin
once it has passed through
the terraces of these arcane eyes.
Whether it rises like a garden
full of dreams or prey,
or falls beneath a shadow of roots,
depends on the way you will
flick your listless tail
in the moment of your rising.
White cat in the garden,
is it that this hydrangea path,
like all things we are surprised
to chance upon, springs from you,
in this long hour of the fierce guardian statues?