Is a shrouded ombre cumulus cloud

Actually she is a theosophist

I smelled her out immediately

She stinks pink, that’s how I know

Izzy comes from a crag-ridden Carpathian crow-infested city

Or maybe not, maybe from the Andes

(I really adore hearing Izzy spout spiritual in Spanglish)

Mucha mierda, she perches on a peaky monolith and mouths off

Since she tastes pink she is philosophical

to think it has come to this: my gata

is a pedagogue of the arcane language of the cosmos

Crouched above Madame Blavatsky’s head like a halo

Izzy laughs and leaps into the air

Helena clears her throat as Izzy spits and hisses and scratches

Well, she will spit and hiss and scratch some day, will roll

around on Madame’s rug to get her lizard belly scratched

A cat like Izzy is as rare as a Flamenco dancing mule

Hearing the symphony cojelo con take it easy

Curled next to the mouthy footstool upon which Madame rests her feet

Izzy dreams of ombre