Religion

Nothing matters but the soul of a cat,
Persian with long hair, brown eyes,
an intensity of teeth, claw, endurance.

Cold outside, a month into spring,
a small mouse caught within its grip,
its eyes open wide enough to see God--

Whose God? The cat's? The mouse?
Mine? I do not know, but I care to know.
The cat swings the mouse, bats it.

Yes, I do not wait for the grand finale.
Later the cat will be resting on the sofa,
purring softly on the thick rug by the heat,

climbing the gym set made for it,
ignoring its plate of food, ignoring us and then
wash its paws in its water bowl.