Wisp

There will come a time

(many moons from now

it must be hoped)

when small body will

rest a final time,

when warm pelt grows

cold

and jubilant purr becomes

empty echo.

On that day,

I will hold you

closer than angels.

(It is a sadly mortal thing

to love a pet so dearly

to mourn dear companion

before their departure.)

Tonight, however,

you are too young

to consider your own mortality.

You have not yet

touched every toy

in velveteen paws.

Tonight, you are small

and lovely

and oh so precious.

Oh ghost-in-reverse,

dearest spectre yet unmade,

won't you please press soft,

wet nose into my cheek,

sing me the endless hum

of your happiness.