Tybalt is dead - a coal black cat
with eyes the bright softness
of murky green pools.
My friend Sarah found him
in the burnished leaves outside
her back door, then came for me.
Tybalt lay half-curled on his side,
one front paw on top of the other,
resting so easily you’d swear
he was sleeping – but his eyes
were open and he wasn’t breathing.
Soft fur softer than I remember,
eyes still bright-soft green.
I hold him and stroke him
laying his black fur down.