The New Purrusalem
My kitten steps across my flooring tiles
And even though they are the blandest bland,
A space of beige like wedding chapel aisles,
Tiles turn transparent gold, become the strand
Of Heaven leading to the throne of Him
Who made her beauty with a syllable.
He made my kitten as a furry whim
To fill an emptiness unfillable
In God’s desires except with throaty purrs.
He spoke a single syllable and, Lo!
The streets of Heaven heard the whirrs and chirrs
Of scampering that only kittens know.
..Then, when He handed Buso down to me,
….He showed His awe of joy solemnly.