my cat knows all

i don't know why
i sit down to write,
i am too tired
with the passage 

of days and i see
no end. though
all is like a cloud
of dust whirling

backstage, i arrived
here so fast, memory
is floating in fog
on a thin line, and 

my fingers are clumsy,
they try to hold on
but they do not know
why they try and try.

so, i open my hand
and let all go
but you come back,
as present as now

and as absent 
as ever. my cat,
natural born actor,
sleeps on the carpet
as if and maybe

i should lift my blanket
as if you were hiding
underneath, next to me,
instead i write here

as if i was talking
to you, into your ear,
wordless in the night
and in dissolving days

because what will be
is not here, i am too tired
with the passage of 
blood, of breath

and i cannot see
more than a cat, a
fire and i cannot hear
your voice near

but my cat, stretched
flat out, he said:
as if is good enough.
more was lost in purring.