PERFECT TIMING

I have come so far,
but I am not quite sure
if I have arrived.

Travel and sleep
have not come easily.
I find my focus blurred
and my jet-lagged eyes,
weighty, but unlocked.

Although tomorrow
is promised to no one,
I always have hope
for what tomorrow may bring.
But without the splendor of sleep,
I feel worn down
by the accumulation of time
and the absense of tomorrows.
I am so tired from living my todays
all night long.

Sluggishly, I succumb
to the sanctuary of my chair,
too drained to overcome
the shadows of my own thoughts
looming in the distance.

At this moment,
the fine art of forgetting
seems off limits to my mind.
Just as I am about to be touched
by a smattering of regrets in the air,
I feel the welcome weight of Woodrow,
in his oh so graceful state
of feline completeness,
sink into my lap.

His timing, as always, is perfect,
and my sense of reality is restored.
I find comfort in his spirit,
because his spirit is yours.
Even though you are far away,
paradoxically,
you are so close at hand
that when I touch him,
I touch you.

He wraps himself around me
like a coverlet.
His third eye lids close completely
as he approachs nirvana,
and he kneads my stomach
in time to the synchronized
drips of raindrops
that spread like tears
across the pane.

He kneads and kneads,
but at this perfect
moment in time,
my need for him,
nourished
by my need for you,
is greater.

I close my eyes,
and like Woodrow,
I see nirvana
in the distance...

and I am at peace.

© JOHN PISCATELLA