The night is blackest at 3:00 am;
The cat scratches at the door to be let in.
I awaken and listen to the sounds
and my day begins.
Strange how different
when it is just you, a cat, a sleeping dog or two.
I look out the window to moon and cloud and darkness.
I start to write, next to a perched cat
Whose tail syncopates my hesitant pen, as we
write and swing—stop—and start again.
If I tend to hesitate,
the job of moving words too much,
the cat, Lord William, swats my pen
and, as before, the words, and tail, begin again.