Left

In the late afternoon

An onyx cat stretches

Before the bay window,

Reveling before the warmth,

Bristling its fur,

And sneezes in the dust

Brushed up by its tail.

The small sound echoes

In the empty house,

Where he wrote every day,

Until he left this world,

Left this quiet house,

And cobwebs filled the void.

The hour grows later,

The cat walks away,

It's quiet as I stand here;

The cat is all that's left,

But I can't bear to take it.

The sun streaks through

The mullioned glass

And casts shadow

From a fallen post-it.

It's length stretched

Upon the floor

Reads like a sundial,

Maybe I can read it- but I

Forgot to check the time,

And now it's too dark, and the note disappears- and I'm alone.