Morning

I wake before dawn,
wonder how kitty passes the time
when she is tired of sleeping.

I could be starting an exercise regimen,
strengthening my chest, legs and arms,
filling myself more regularly with endorphins,
that bring reverie of mermaids, and stars.
I could be concentrating on the cushion,
letting restlessness be, watch it separate
from the still point.
The pillows are all wrong, that's it.
Or it could be midnight cereal.
Or some unseen stress or obligation.
Or Mars is rudely crossing Venus.

Kitty, I think, fills empty spaces
without working so hard,
without such extremes of influence.