1.17

the cat sits

on the bed next to my wife

then moves to snuggle at her feet,

with tail atwitch

like a modest sphinx

glorying in the return of its mother.

calm. solid. at peace with the world,

her owl like eyes convey only

her self-containment.

when have I felt that compact

serene, composed…

perhaps never. my mind wanders, flutters, worries

and the straight buddha quiet escapes me

never arises, for other things intervene

between being and just being.

does she know more than I in her composition

or less…

sphinxlike, I will never know.

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