felix in poetry

sometimes it’s a leaf on the breeze
or maybe a fabric tag flickering
in the corner of my eye-line
a flash of movement at the
periphery of my senses
and I forget that
he is gone

a beloved pet can be like that
becoming a part of your reality
their presence a reflex itself
an assumption, a presumption
until they are gone
then they’re gone

and my body still anticipates him
dear little knife-foot murder cat
he is supposed to be darting
he is supposed to be sprinting
anything moving like that
is supposed to be Felix
but now it isn’t

just a trick of the light
of the eye, of the heart
a ghost at the edges
not there yet still
somehow somehow