Sunlight hits a narrow
bookshelf, shapes
a perfect cat shadow--
ears and legs and all.
This cat doesn't move.
Its assumed eyes stare.
Its supposed mouth opens
to accuse perception
of being little more
than a collage of simulations,
reactions to effects, habits
of getting it wrong.
And who am I,
watching the wall,
behind the books, to
contradict a shadow cat?
hans ostrom 2021
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