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Every spring,

When the birds come back,

The cats disappear,

And I wonder if they’re dead

Or gone wild,

Chasing magpies and robins

Until they’re so far from home

They either don’t know

Or don’t care to return.

There are cats

Who come back to me in dreams,

And I wonder if this means they’re alive.

There are theories of dreams,

That they’re infinite

Pieces of our perceptions,

Some hidden, some obvious,

But jumbled together as we sleep

And experience sweet things

We never thought we knew,

Or, experience horror

We didn’t know we could imagine.

I wonder which is real,

If the cats in my dreams

Are as much themselves

As any of us, living, can be,

And if we are all, always, chasing birds, 

Wandering further and further

From some home.

 

 

 

 

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