The cat does a
fine patriarchal stalk
his paws all
rosebuds and thorns,
eyes a
tender-censorious almost-blue
as he plays
pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake
with the living
room rug
which bubbles
and bumps
like bread
dough baking
until I lift
its edge
to see a small,
dark, anguished mouse
race the thread
of its tail up and down
like a
seamstress frantic to say least and mend soonest
the deep
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