As If

The kitten plays
as if she were
the first of kittens
on the first of days;

as if no heretofore,
no law of iron brings
this concentrated burr,
this velvet paw

that tightly clings.
She masters bite and scratch,
the ritual of strings,
as if her mind had wings.

What mind (though cat-) could
match
wisdom that comes unsought
when the nerves whisper: catch,
and the wild blood: snatch!

Not by a single ought
has she advanced her race.
She curls into a nought.
Tail punctuates that thought.

May mice fill all her days!