The colour of cinnamon
and as sleek as an Indian sari
he moves through the room,
a wave of silk on warmth,
a trick of light catches the eye
before he is gone in a fluttering blur.
Light as air, a breath of wind
in feline shape; a thought, a brush of fur,
a glimpse of tail gleefully raised,
he parades as silent as a ghost.
A trickster of form, he bends at will
lustrous light with dainty feet.
He slips through my dreams
blithe as wind-sucked flame,
flitting in lapis night, a shadow-
burnished jewel, lambent
genie-smoke on sleeping retina;
tiptoe, elusive, he stalks the dawn.
Elizabeth Barton is an artist and poet from New Zealand, with work featured in Pink Plastic House, Fevers of the Mind, Black Bough Poetry’s Rapture and Christmas/Winter Edition 2021 and Vita Brevis Literature, Nothing Divine Dies. A winner of the 2020 White Label Cinq competition, she has a forthcoming poetry collection to be published by Hedgehog Poetry Press. Her art is in private and public collections worldwide, including the V & A Prints Collection, London.