I am pressed to the bed
by a curled cat
dreaming, whisker-twitching on my lap.

Who am I to disturb
such safety, such warmth?

Perhaps he is in cahoots with the Beloved:
I'm to pen one last poem,
excavate one final, pithy observation,
extend my silence through the portal of one more self-realization?

Or maybe, like my left leg,
the rest of me is meant to go numb–
inch by inch–
until even my brain, finally, truly–
like the cat–
rests.

Text and image © 2012 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.