Nothing came back whole; nothing was lost
Entirely. The cosmos whittled and whittled
Away. Day after day, a cat came back, a ghost
Of a large, thickly furred, sealpoint Siamese
That would wander up the drive, sniff under
The cars parked in back, examine the edge
Of the shed, and then vanish. The same cat?
No, yes, no. Nothing is the exact same thing,
Day after day. But the cat was continuous
With its earlier incarnations, grant us that.
Or refuse. The cat vanished away, a new cat
Came in its place, looking much the same,
Each next day. I watched from the window
That it was my own repetitive habit to visit,
While I worked on my daily reworking of words,
And it occurred to me, as this day’s cat
Vanished into old snow, that I was the new cat
And tomorrow another new cat in my place.
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