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 Spirit Chimes

Midnight Cat



In memory of Plesha


You must be the night,
all spirit dance and
moon-drenched sable,
melting into a warm sleep
in my arms,
or you are the
heart of night
when it paints us into
shadows and leaves us
dripping fear and
fantasies we want to
know better.

No wonder the ancient
ones set you one
step below the sun;
They must have seen eyes
like yours and wanted
those burning souls
that drank in every drop
of amber that fell
from the day.

Yes, you are the night,
or the night has
followed you
and floats its stars
upon your back,
and dreams with roaring
breath,
and sleeps like midnight
air upon my lap.

Patricia Joan Jones


First published in The Baroque Review Magazine

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