“The Cat at the Sea Cave”

Where the sea caves curve in a deep green seam,  
And the salt wind sighs with a lace-like gleam,  
There lies a cat with a mariner’s gaze,  
Paws tucked neat on an outcrop’s glaze.  

His fur is flint-dark, shot through with foam,  
A shadowy patch where the gulls call home,  
His yellow eyes flick as the tide runs out,  
He’s sentinel, king, and never in doubt.  

Barnacle pillars frame his door,  
A kelp-draped mat on the ocean floor,  
Behind him the sun falls, a molten disk,  
Struck gold on his whiskers, brine on his whisk.  

He greets every dawn with a single low purr,  
Each night is a lull gently wrapped in his fur,  
He listens to stories the water will bring—  
Secretive things from the shell and the wing.  

Old sailors say if you pass by the cave,  
And hear the faint mewl of a song in a wave,  
It’s the cat at the sea cave, bold and alone,  
Dreaming in blue, where the tide makes its throne.

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