ANIMALS IN LITTLE BOXES

Mornings I wake, leave the cat sleeping,
carry outside the burden of worry,
vomit it out, don't spoil my enclosure.
How do the birds know? They have a feeling.
A feeling of winter. Time to depart;
as the great curve of the earth they encircle.

Time is not flat. But yes, it's a circle.
Call it a sphere, much like the cat sleeping.
Hills of the blanket he presses apart.
Eyes closed he rests; no sign of worry.
Where does he get such lightness of feeling?
Doesn't he know about his enclosure?

Winter in Prague. The tiger enclosure.
Empty stone seats arranged in a circle.
No care from keepers; no sign of feeling.
Everyone ever is somewhere else, sleeping.
At the glass wall the tiger's paws worry,
As though that barrier might come apart,

Loosen us both from the stonework compart.
Houses or "homes", they are cages, enclosures,
vessels. Within, we brew and we worry.
The tiger is pacing (of course) in a circle.
Pacing is endless - I walk when I'm sleeping.
Restive while resting, anxious, unfeeling.

We face through the glass. I have a feeling.
Knowing of something to which we're both part.
The animal cry, inside, unsleeping
seeking out freedom, or at least closure;
only succeeds in a tail-chasing circle.
Behind the eyes we all share the worry.

Summer in Melbourne loosens the worry.
I hope for him it's a bearable feeling.
Swinging the sisal around in a circle.
Keep him from birds that would be torn apart.
Picking him up - in my arms, the enclosure.
Later there's dinner. Together we're sleeping.

Birds and all worry will one day depart.
Feeling will step from the open enclosure.
Waking, sleeping; the sun's endless circle.