Make me cool and silent as
the black cat that glides through
the night beyond my open window.
Pour down on my satiny skin
a moon plump with Easter’s
ancient promise, cascading like a
string of pearls her numinous
vernal generations. Settle on
to my limber restless shadow
just enough knowing to shake
off the languid
morning, never to grow too
fond of comfort and cream.
Send me serene across
hostile afternoons to break
through on the other side
—where once more
the spring night will take
me up like a lover
gratefully returned,
and the yellow voice
of the quickening earth will
whisper, cattail-soft,
beneath my sure-footed tread.
***
Janele Johnson is a writer from the Colorado Springs area.
