Lawrence Hall
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
Cats Creep in on Measurable Meter
Having Coffee with Carl Sandburg
Little cats do not
creep as the sleepy fog creeps
But rather in a
so-soft measurable meter -
Besides, the fog
does not wear little bells
Or an electronic
tracker to beep its creep
In the foggy hours
of the untimed night
Dear cat pads silently
across my face
And mews her gentle let-me-out
song
To join the sacred
mysteries on misty fields
At dawn I ask her
what strange worlds she has spanned -
She sweetly purrs to
me, “you wouldn’t understand”
