Matter. Do we bring our forms
in feather worship through feline
joys, thanking the morning through
one bird caught, held, devoured like a
science project, carefully appointed: piston
fluff in tufts barely touch the floor, the bird lain
Reverence down, both wings and tail feathers intact,
carefully exposed insides, intestines gone, yet tiny organs
silent near the darker head, crumpling perfect feline saliva.