Around our rolling wold,
see slipshod shame
as little more
than coiling shadows slung from wincing kittens,
ears a riveting starling’s song 
                                                       had flattened
for fear of startling starlings;
flat and hapless hulls curt cats must cast
to honor a sterling compact
Bast once brokered
many mangled tales ago
to filigree foibled greaves
these countless clowders pieced
                                                           from patchwork pajamas
with auric, impervious pride
young Bast had knotted
in matagots’ measured scowls—

yet, how the manx and tabby yowl
when dandled should svelte shadows sleave
with shades our sun unspools of a governess,
shades that cherubic children channel
in mummers parades of menageries mincing;
blade of the Brocken Specter raised
as sharp and swift as a corn maze cradles
                                                                              children
still afeard of stalking
                                          shadows soft as
                                                                        murmurous persians—