ONLY THE CATS

The cats ate nothing today.

They gathered slowly on the roof,

not even the rain made them open their tongues.

Nor did the water drain their voice. The cats did not meow.

That gliding stride that belongs to cats alone

led them away from the words engraved in marble

or recumbent granite. From flowered plastic.

From the flowers that absence perpetuates.

Today the graves are silent

and the cats with their claws flattened against the tiles,

with that gaze that only cats can gaze,

still don’t know if they have lost their faith in life

or even more in death. They feel an unnamed

knot in the throat like all of us.

From the rooftops they say no to the heavens.

They want to make it clear close-up.