the Cat who Visits my Backyard sometimes

Looking through my window,
I see you there again.
Such a strange fragment of familiarity.

Your neck, still naked, unsettles me.
The way you sneak around
without a jingle-jangle announcing each step.

We lock eyes and our dance begins.
I open the door.
You pause, shoulders above your forehead
and hold until
until I click my tongue
and trace my fingers along the ground.
You come and rub yourself against my arm,
recoiling if I move with any conviction.
I wonder which one of us is petting the other.

Where am I save your cheek?
The bridge of your nose, ridge between your eyes,
the spot of white fur above your left brow?

You purr
and for a moment remind me
of another cat.
A cat that was once mine,
a cat that is mine,
a cat that will be mine.
But you are not this cat.

Your paws leave prints on the soil far beneath my patio stones
as you run away again.