Our cats are bored. So are the dead.
Still, they flyglide on cloud surfboards
to obscure governmental libraries
to pore over enormous medical dictionaries
the size of small dinosaurs
for explanations of their ailments.
They’re still there at midnight,
wondering aloud with downturned mouths
when life went away, when it hit a wall and stopped,
when their brains dimmed like faulty lamps
and death began to stir
like mice-hair throughout their lives.