Curl into the moonlight
and practice not giving voice.
Walk away from the dish
and practice not tasting food.
Lie still on the cushion
and practice not waking up.
Crawl under the bushes
and practice not being found.
Stretch out to full length
and practice stiffening up.
And, oh, this last aching effort:
Feel her hands in my fur
and lift my gaze to the eyes
that have held me and loved me and healed me
and practice not seeing her cry.
