my cat and the moon

I cannot find my cat
in the moon.
Once she sees the great white
behind my window,
I lose her black eyes.

The stars shake from her whiskers.
And her throat wishes she could howl
like coyotes do. Like humans bellow
when something is stolen.

To her, we are not the moon.
To us, the moon is not a star.
It comes, sometimes,
when not in the rain
and tickles the tide.

She shakes in her sleep,
and sighs, like only moon keepers do,

Until at last, she turns her gaze
and decides to eat.

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