Almost as if
I need to put my fingers on his hands

and feel the prints
of the nails

last night
I remember my cat curled up

in her bed
a gray heaving ball of fluff

also my other one
a tabby

caterwauling
at another feline beyond the glass

whose face was pale
in the baleful moonlight

and if I try hard enough
I can still  hear and smell the burnt English

muffins popping up
in the toaster as well as

taste and feel the butter
in its nooks and crannies

there's so much
on the surface that needs

to be explored
I doubt I will ever be able

to get much deeper
then the night before

Whit Howland © 2019