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Pensive amber eyes embedded like suns
in tawny hair muddled up with ebony, maple, umber, russet and toffee.
Her silk-like fur blossoming into ladies pantaloons.

Sure-footed running down the parquet-floored hall,
to stalk shadows, chase dust in the sunlight
or pursue snowflakes in the window.

The divine earthbound creature that she is to me,
this rescued cat who tenderly touches my face
as I had once lovingly stroked her wounded pads.

I go to touch these definitions of her existence
And find nothing. Void. Emptiness.

She is but shadow now. Ombre.

She lives with me still,
immovable, stationary, cold. Enclosed.
Contained in an urn the colour of her gilt eyes,
moving with me from room to room
as it was in the decade before.

In my arms rests Psyche.
My shade, my phantasm, my most beloved spectre.

In my heart rests Psyche.

Here her trusting soul forever resides.

By: Elissa Michele Zacher

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