On a tired Sunday morning
a cat’s whisker on the sofa
tiny spear in a sliver of light.
Hold it like a toothpick and poke
the pad of your fingertip or draw it
across your face to remember
you have nerves, you’ve made it
into another day, touched
a moment of pleasure so quiet.
Lay it in the flat bowl with the strange
keys and stray paperclips, lost things
that remind you: you are here.
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