Knoweth thou the time when wild goats of rock bring forth? Or canst thou mark when the hinds calve? They bring forth their young and they are delivered of their sorrows.
-Job

The cat lays on her back,
Tender eyed, oipen mouthed,
Pale covered tongue rose tipped . . .

The cat gasps in the night . . .
A cat in the midst of branches
Glems cold, like the rings
Of a glow-worm moving through leaves.

No tiny head and paws swarm
On the cat's belly softly warm.

No wind. A leaf falls.

written by ANdre Spire (1868-1966)
translated from the French