Three in the morn; when
Sunlight’s sister’s reflected splendour
Slips in nimble stranded shadows
Through the thinning fabric
Stretched not full across my window frame.
In a long drawn breath she sighs, strokes
With fingers insubstantial my sleeping furniture,
My stood still miscellanea, ethereal
In a solemn, silver, lonely light.
My eyes won’t close, but focus sharp
On a room I forget exists in slumber.
Hushed.
An owl wickers wild outside, reminds me of
My solitude.
And I move my gaze to the ceiling, dappled,
Where the shadow of a stalking tabby,
Pads with me, silent, the fragile path,
Meandering back into my dreams.