Yellow Cats

CATS will lie against a wall,
Purring, curling paws and tails.
Cats will lengthen out and sprawl,
Slow and accurate as snails.

When the blue-green feathered grass
Blade by blade reflects the breeze,
Cats will roll to feel it pass,
Then resume their slant-eyed ease.

BELL-SHAPED, with haunches firmly squat,
The cat may for a minute rise
To stare at bird or butterfly,
With momentary rounded eyes.

But legs relax, the bird moves on,
The furry spine begins to wilt
And droop until at last his head
Lies with the rest, like honey spilt.

THE cat that enters from the night
With darkened eyes and chilly fur
Prowls and explores as if she could
Absorb the things that puzzle her.

The barred tail waves, the front paws knead,
She settles plumply in a chair;
And then, along a similar road,
The other golden cat is there.

As in a fugue, the second voice
Which enters echoing will find
At last its mate, so now the cats
Recline and wash with single mind.

THE fur fanned out at elbow joints,
Pale fringes in the ears,
The plastered spot his tongue anoints,
Are all that now appears
Contrasting with the sleek expanse
Of tiger-striped pelt
Which forms its owner’s coat and pants
And shirt and hat and belt.