Zen Cat
When I open 
the door my
cat slips between

my legs, as 
he does every
morning, trots to

the kitchen, where 
he curls in
his usual spot

beneath the table 
in a shaft
of sunlight slanting

through the blinds.
On the welcome
mat he has

left me a 
bluebird’s spindly legs,
tailfeathers, a heart 

licked clean as
a smooth brown
stone. Wake up!