I watch him sleep.
The big-headed cat with the large white feet.
His whole body rises and falls
with his breathing.
And I hear his breath
coming hard and fast.
Dreams of another time.
I do not wake him.
I watch him still;
with ever-warming eyes.
I listen to the breaks in the breathing
with ears that ache;
catching changes in the rhythm.
I close my eyes and remember.
Dreams of another time.
You don't have to stop
I tell myself in the midst
of memories.
I am aware that he is watching me
remembering.
We have shared so much.
Moonlight falling through open windows
lighting our way down the hall
to bath and box.
Sunlight promising perfect naps to come
after hard hours spent contemplating
squirrels in the tree
and why that paragraph just
doesn't work.
And, of course, the click of cabinets,
the thump and rush of water,
another click and metal hitting metal.
At last.
A cup of tea for me;
a warm bowl of cereal for him.
His watchful eyes;
a lesson in patience and knowing.
I am watching once again;
smiling over my tea.
He does not look up from the bowl.
Even now.
Even now there are priorities.
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