I didn’t say goodnight because I had no breath
left, I’m sorry. Our kittens play
in the bedroom like kittens. I lie
wide awake like an insomniac or something
nocturnal, an owl, a fox.
Dusty and Dimples leap at one another,
thudding wordlessly against the dresser drawers,
then the closet drawer, the tacit
all-serious brotherly battle. You favor Dusty,
though you deny it. He is the color of ashes,
and as frail, his thin tail as scrawny
as his teeth are sharp. He would not be the star
of a Hollywood movie. Dimples captures
and chews his own tail in tall shadows,
chest out, regal as a king.