The Baker

For my cat, who is maybe old, but with age comes experience – he is the best baker.

 

my ginger leaf, amber shadow
rose skin covered with rust
baker of the morning cookies
you knead the dreams
with taloned paws

your voice descends on the pillow
a ragged tune of content
copper lazy days
filled with your autumnal gaze

brownies and milk
tucked into goose feathers
like a mole hidden underground
you lift sharpest eyes to the sun
embracing the world that needs
a good bakery, when night shuts its door
giving a way to the waking daylight