Cat's Cradle

        My hands holdthe pattern that        holds them fast. Your

hands pluck the string        to make the musicthat frees me up

        at last. We lift awayentanglements        we trade

like tongues. The cat        in my crècheis your name

        on my breath. To loveis to be bound        like this and freed

like this. The pattern        that weaves myhands together

        blinks and opensin your hands,        a new dreamcatcher

with you the dream        inside it. Isn't it beautifulto need like this?

        Pattern crisscrossespattern, hands        swooping in

to rescue hands.        They never touchin their mercurial

        aerial dance. One loopof string        strings fate

along with elusively        feline ingenuity,you and me

        in patternafter pattern        recurring

while our Cheshire love        with its nine livesand sleepy topaz eyes

        lies in itsshapeshifting cradle        purring.