The Black Cat

We paint in black and white
Sure strokes that douse the page
The black cat scampers through our fingers
Leaves a tail print in our scrawls
We keep going until the page is full
A dizzying splatter of thought and time
It absorbs us
We get lost
Busy making inky patterns
Shapes which morph when we shake them
It's a bit like a map she squeals
If we look closely enough we will learn the key
Find our way out
Or in
She complains that I don't use colour
Not even blue
These lines need to be permanent I say
To last though rain storms
And windy nights
They will hang on our walls
Banners and tails
Signs and symbols we once followed
Until we found our way
Used our instinct not our eyes
The paint goes dry as the sun falls
We huddle up in bed
Fit for dreaming
Ready for sleep
The black cat scratches in the dark
Perhaps it is heading for the mirror
That's where all good adventures start.