Sometimes in the summer sunrise the cat
Claims the long space between our bodies, sleeping. You,
Stripped down, still as a statue toppled in the sun.
My arms cartwheel under and over the sheet.
Enter the cat:
An ampersand of belly and spine, fur to spare, he slips
In the channel with jigsaw cunning, a yoga master of sleep. Perhaps
The quick delicious mouse who runs through the cat's dream
Will find refuge in the hollow of your ear-- I know
My dreams have traveled there, sometimes.