Saint Gertrude

She is startled by reflections
Her one eye doesn’t understand,
By the light travelling along the wall,
The spectre of full sight eluding her.

In the dark, she sees figments
That aren’t a part of her,
A distant rumble of verse
Throbbing in her empty socket.

On the bed, at dawn,
She paws her comfortable places
In search of more sleep,
Somewhere to rest her tired eye.

Outside, belly close to the frozen ground,
She searches for the sun in winter,
Shivers under the shining lustre of fur,
And sleeps by the open back door.