Hunkered down in a corner,
the apex of an almost triangle,
He lies in a sphere, like Ouroboros, seemingly
tail to mouth, silent
once more sleeping his day away.
I watch, paying attention
to his belly rising and falling as Breath breathes in him.
We have that in common –
no work on our part as Breath moves in through our nostrils,
fills our bellies, then flows out again
in a circular pattern
Black-tipped smoky gray tail twitches,
rises, then falls again,
Who moves his tail?
Certainly not Tom,
but still, tail moves as curiously
as belly rises and falls.
A paw slides, barely shifts,
as the tail continues twitching,
rising and falling with belly
as Breath breathes.
A sly eye slits open and
looks toward me with no recognition.
Eye closes again as head droops a little more.
The gestalt of his day,
paw moving now and again
in that cycle of life pattern,
each moment recreating itself,
the Eternal Return.