For Kiri-cat, who died late last night

This passing out of living has to stop. There is no
recompense or sense in it – but only one frail echo

of a distant thunder – of the wonder, in departing,
that an entrance ever was assayed: that a life

arrayed itself across a day, allayed all doubt that
it would not – was weighed, had impact: sharp

and bright as fact, with all the clout and clot and
gentleness of temperament and flesh: these are

the ripest lessons from the tree that I've seen drop.
But still I say: this passing out of living has to stop.