Man wants to be fish and bird,
the snake would like to have wings,
the dog is a disoriented lion,
the engineer wants to be a poet,
the fly studies for swallow,
the poet tries to imitate the fly,
but the cat
he wants to be just a cat
and every cat is a cat
from mustache to tail,
from premonition to living rat,
from night to his golden eyes.

There is no unity
As the,
they do not have
the moon or the flower
such texture:
it's one thing
like the sun or the topaz,
and the elastic line in its outline
firm and subtle is like
the line of the bow of a ship.
His yellow eyes
they left one
groove
to throw the coins of the night.

Oh little
emperor without an orb,
conqueror without a fatherland,
minimal living room tiger, bridal
sultan of heaven
of the erotic tiles,
the wind of love
in the open
you claim
when you pass
and you pose
four delicate feet
on the floor,
sniffing
distrusting
of everything terrestrial,
because everything
he is unclean
for the immaculate foot of the cat.

Oh independent beast
of the house, arrogant
vestige of the night,
lazy, gymnastic
and others,
very deep cat,
secret police
of the rooms,
insignia
of a
disappeared velvet,
surely there is no
enigma
in your way,
maybe you're not a mystery,
everyone knows you and you belong
to the less mysterious inhabitant,
maybe everyone believes it,
everyone thinks they own,
owners, uncles
of cats, companions,
colleagues,
disciples or friends
of your cat.

I do not.
I do not subscribe.
I do not know the cat.
I know everything, life and its archipelago,
the sea and the incalculable city,
The botanic,
the gynoecium with its losses,
the by and the least of mathematics,
the volcanic funnels of the world,
the unreal shell of the crocodile,
the ignored kindness of the fireman,
the blue atavism of the priest,
but I can not decipher a cat.
My reason slipped in his indifference,
his eyes have golden numbers.

Photos by @raquel.ramirezv