Orange

At the corner of a week

when the year was turning around

and time was drawing a circle,

from behind a gulmohar tree

an orange cat sat watching

the twilight sky

that hung from a branch.

Unlike this silence

when everything is perfect

in a room full of voices and feet

behind the glass walls

i watch your fingers strain

my orange name

through tea leaves of time.

On the trees that flower

orange mornings

when the moon is red with sleep

a spider spins chalky doodles

of papery daydreams

of a cat that watched

you and me.