in the humble showers
of the gibbous moon,
on the marble floor,
the white-feathers cat
tarries her sojourn
in the kitchen.
she can scoot there,
the door is open and
the milk is hanging from
the branches upto her height.
no, her innocrnce chains her legs
to go through the music anytime.
in her life, she has learnt
the moonlight is always snow
as it never mingles with darkness.