Lupine

by Nina Quigley

In central London, four high summer days

and a garden view. No need to lower blinds.

I bathe in leafy wildness. Sleep long

and wake early to an agitation of hungry cats.

Cats are my commas. They instruct

and bookend me through lazy afternoons

occasionally at purr while deep in rest

and in communion with my animal form.

Like them I settle myself to this here and now,

movement minimal. Monumental and still.

I receive the friendship of a one-eyed cat.

Now, the other, a black-and-white comes quickly

to my side when I gesture with a small pat

on the counterpane. Here comes a third,

classically shy with a lupine look.

I bask in rare privilege and repose.