Silver Nights


When the night is here, but not the cat…
…sleep is a fissure;
a vile tear in the armor

I lie alone in a night that breathes
much more slowly than I

When the Silver Cat chooses to sleep
somewhere else in the house,
I become one among wild animals
who close their eyes in secret
and let go
like the skydiver
from a Cessna 208 Caravan

But I have left the bedroom door ajar,
a sandal-wide gap,
against its tendency to close,
so that Silver may step in
should he wish to, in a later darkness

And he comes! – a shadow across the floor;
jumps up, soundlessly;
a warm weight between my knees,
if I sleep on my back;
a five-kilo trust curled in the crooks of my knees,
if I lie on my side,
flying in the fetal position, chagallesque,
with my closed face, gazing blindly
out into the room’s irreproachable mystery,
clothed in floor, walls, ceiling
in a silent storm of worlds






Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin The PoetBay support member heart!
Written on 2026-03-27 at 10:37

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