In the utter darkness the fine piping of birds begins another dawn.

The insistent cat pushes between my fingers and the open page.

There is a meaning in the poise of my face and pen before the page,

But the cat has no knowledge of it.

She pushes her whole black purring self across my face.

Her paws step softly on the paper.

She thrusts her head against the moving pen.

She speaks in liquid murmurs, a tremble in her purring.

The meaning to her is between one living thing and another.

Nothing to her, the travelling of a pen across a page.