Imprint

Women, poets, and especially artists, like cats; only delicate natures can realize their sensitive nervous systems.  — Helen M. Winslow

Your entry the night before was almost silent,
except for the brush of your body
against the screen door.
Walking across the room on cat paws
hoping not to awaken, then gently creeping
into bed beside me, touching only
to make your presence known.
I turn to go back to sleep
while you fit into the space closest to me,
vigilant for a while, before joining your dreams.
Tomorrow morning an outline of you
will remain in the bed after you have slipped out
into the morning, an imprint of your visit.
I reach across and feel you beneath my touch…

I love to hear you purr.