“a black cat watching birds through a window”

On velvet paws she finds her stage,  
The windowsill, her quiet cage,  
Black pearl in a patch of sun,  
Her day of hunting, softly spun.  

Her yellow eyes, wide coins of fire,  
Fix on the branches’ restless choir—  
The sparrows stitching in and out,  
A flicker, a song, a restless scout.  

Tail curled in a thoughtful sweep,  
She crouches, breaths wound tight and deep,  
A twitch of whisker, twitch of ear,  
The ancient call of chase draws near.  

Outside—thrill and flutter, wing and dart,  
Each bird a drumbeat in her heart,  
Yet glass divides the wild from tame—  
Only shadows, never game.  

Still, she does not envy flight  
Or mourn the hunt in morning light;  
For here she reigns in velvet grace,  
A silent queen by sun embraced.  

Yet—oh!—the hope in every glare,  
The wild that lives on this side of air,  
A dream kept bright behind the pane,  
Of someday flying just the same.

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