Oh muse,
how you fix at me with sleepy eyes
your tail a pendulum, back and forth
cleaving bloated minutes on the brink
(always on the brink)
of the next idea.

Oh muse,
how your whiskers twitch ‘gainst hurried hands
feeding hands that nag now, stop and start
pounding, locked in some human rhythm
(desperate, choked rhythm)
of the next idea.

Oh muse,
how you warm my side
how you moan and purr
how you sleep a tiger’s sleep of stoic peace
beyond ideas
in the animal space
dreaming of blackbirds and tattered socks
and little plastic milk tops that tap and crinkle cross the floor.