My cat is teaching me to see and be.
At first a clumsy-clothed giant,
he has taught me to kneel
how to make myself disappear
At first nothing but the wallpaper rustle of wind in leaves,
until I follow
his arrow-yellow eyes
and see this stem weave to a different current,
hear a scratch,
a clutch of claw
to eat seeds,
big ears sateliting
tail curled around stem
the world slows,
taut with anticipation,
Then it scuttles off.
lets his haunches sink into the earth.
I sink too into childhood
when the smell of earth was as familiar to me as the scents of home,
I look up from my belly where I lie
looking through long grass,
than for many decades now.
The world feels huge,
my garden a jungle,
I could play out all day,
watching bees nestle in blue,
the fountains of grass cascading,
light glancing off the fine filigree.
Time spins out and back and round
taking me from the world of mind and screens
into the sensual underbelly,
of dappled apricot,