Authenticity

The birds come and go

their nests in places

near enough to leap to.

The sky rains sunshine

which warms the still air

and feeds grass and leaves.

On the windowsill

I crouch all day,

another indoor cat.

Imprisoned behind glass,

the flashing movement outside

is an abiding provocation.

The nearby chirps and tweets

are a stirring jungle melody,

the soundtrack of my indoor life..

However still I keep,

the pulsing blood within me

needs to hunt.