THE CAT

The cat on my Baudelaire
jumps and purrs at me
on my sofa chair
she then ignores me
curled up by the fireplace
near ingot fringed blinds
of French unhinged doors
when Bach plays me
on the harpsichord
then the cat sways
in her wood covered spot
near the open welcome mat
by bench blankets
near my learning library draw
of Rimbaud, Valery, Verlaine
and De Mello Sophia Breyner,
always alone in the morning
as a moody Autumn sun
by my university neighborhood
welcomes us in corridors
through hallways and stairs
before my Charles river run
in held up in rainy hub breaths
over the Longfellow bridge
by cool bones of Rob Creeley
at Mt. Auburn cemetery
through a chorus of songbirds
feeding and drinking by fountains
near the bird watchers club
along a melodious forest
in visions not to be forgotten
before my return to rest up
as images race before me
for my reading commentaries
near my backgammon table
where there are cards
for a game of solitaire
as a city bard out of Zion
takes up a wine cup and bread
over a solitude of words
alone from a tower of Babel
living like an exiled Daniel
among lions in Babylon
in this millennia.