To the one who dreams she is the pin-up idol

of the great leopards that roam

the mountains of Tibet and Nepal.

To the pink resoluteness of her nose

and the seductive histrionics of her tail.

To the cabbalahs sealed in her frosted eyes

and her unerring awareness of where she begins and ends.

To her limbs swathed in a chiffon of languor

and her body tensile with the jungle wisdom

of a primeval huntress.

My bonsai lioness,

my storm-in-a-teacup,

my empress of the atomic ego,

to your faith

that a languid wave of imperial paw

is enough to reinvent

an inimical cosmos.