Silhouette of a cat
at the window watching shapes...
the branches of the bushes
blow back and forth
against a dark blue evening sky.
I light a candle. Why not?
And the cat turns to contemplate
dancing shadows, the shape
of my raised foot, grown gigantic
on the wall above him.
The cat is a shadow
watching shadows inside
and shadows outside.
So many tricks of the light
making the mundane mysterious.
How much time have I wasted
chasing charlatans, circus clowns,
street preachers, snake oil salesmen...
all vapors of men, using tricks of the light
to make the mundane mysterious?
The cat jumps down from the windowsill,
done with watching shadows.
I blow out the candle.