My cat is dying
knowing more of how to be
than to be missed not.

To be missed; not to be missed:
pick your warmest vent, to sleep.

I live to sleep warm,
to fill time not unaware
with being itself.

“Happy” is at least “happy.”
I “learn” the point of her claws.

She knows that I love her;
she knows she will fall down;
she knows I can’t catch her.

Passing time alone
for another beverage
and your communion,

it is time to admit my er’r
to the tabernacle box.

Getting out ruddy
with a blue piece of the wall,
I’ll cry in German.

You slip into this crevice.
I pulled you into my fall.

We are between the slats.
I straddle the razor line;
you are on both sides of me.