They Could Become Good Cats

It’s what the monks and mindful
Want to quiet at the start—

The freewheeling, compulsive,
Speculative daydreamer

And worrier, spinning out
Scenarios from each bit

Of shift in information,
Each new possibility.

As soon as everything’s set,
And there’s a plan fixed in place,

The speculation races
Around the skull, pouncing on

Scenes in which it all goes wrong,
Implausible fantasies

That leap higher than life can,
Down in a heap like kittens

Wrestling, mewling in the brain
That they wake at all small hours.

The monk would like some quiet.
But don’t evict the kittens.