Poem

I wanted a cat
to sit
serenely, with the moon
in green eyes,
watching me
write poetry.

This cat gets bored.

He nudges my pen,
bites my fingers, sits
on my page.
‘Am I not poetry?’
he asks,
‘am I not enough?’
His purr falls like sand
into the cogs of my thoughts.

And before I answer
he leaps
and leaves,
perfectly -
an Egyptian god,
a fish, a breath
of silver air -
more complete
than words.