45th Weekly Poetry Contest winner: Robins

Sharp, swift flight
aching, breathtaking,
against slate sky
ebb and flow to the feast
faux cedar, living bird feeder
Below the cacaphony and fanfare,
my ying-yang cat sits and stares,
moodily,
into the distance.....
as if such avian antics are below
and not above
her, and
so far out of reach.
But, deep in her little kit kat heart,
where kittenish ways still paw,
starfish, biscuit,
the place where purrs come from
(and what are purrs, after all?
but the resonance of remembrances
rubbing together as the rise.)
Hidden here, with purrs paused,
the secret wish rises,
that she,
too,
had wings.