To Bat Cat: 



Mirrors are not more wrapt in silences

nor the arriving dawn more secretive ;

you, in the moonlight, are that panther figure

which we can only spy at from a distance.

By the mysterious functioning of some

divine decree, we seek you out in vain ;

remoter than the Ganges or the sunset,

yours is the solitude, yours is the secret.

Your back allows the tentative caress

my hand extends. And you have condescended,

since that forever, now oblivion,

to take love from a flattering human hand.

you live in other time, lord of your realm -

a world as closed and separate as dream.