He’s not even my son.
He’s not my flesh and blood.
Not my species or countryman.
He can’t utter a word of human language.
And yet I love him with all my heart and soul,
every ounce of my being.
My strange genetics to his ancient, long genetics,
laid there right across the universe,
side by side in this unfathomable miracle of
the same moment in time.
I say it with courage,
I say it ready to crumble in endless
sentient, fecund melancholy…
I love you Bleuets.
Serve the house of the masters
to destroy the masters,
undo their myths.
The little, mighty cat.
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