My Kitten the Maestro

His name is Nibby, short for Nibbler,
or Nibi, water in Anishinaabemowin.
He hails from the alleys of Detroit,
unphased by the rain, the snow,
the leaky faucet & the sink. He listens
when he’s called to, appears
upon a whim. At any point, he is
the center of a room. Will trickle
his way through any seemingly
shut door. He will find you you see:
beneath the covers, tucked away
in your moods. Will seep between
your bicep & chest to nest within
your peripheries. He sniffs out the light
of my prayer candles; there is
a flicker in his pupils. When I sing
in ceremony, he plays along
in the old windowsill, cuddled up
with the glittering resonance of dirt
& broken glass, pawing at the cosmos,
bringing it to Earth with his teeth—
but he casts this all aside. Much
prefers the birdsong, the amusement of
a plastic bag, his purple rubberband.