If you could have been here we could have sipped elixir of sky in several shades of nightfall last evening. I won’t say blue or even indigo dye for those deep-sea toned waves of cloud that floated over sun’s low gold. We could have been one, without talking, and seen the black-furred night sky steal in from the east, almost stalking, sleek belly flat to the ground, a power cat, shoulders rippling for the pounce. We could have seen winter-trees’ tiaras, their enlaced limbs a black filigree delicate as sopranos’ high, high arias, as ladies’ hands silhouetted, so many long fingers reaching up, up: through fire. We could have lifted our arms high and stretched our fingers and reached past tree-tops, clouds, moon, even sky until we became all flame.
Johanna Caton, O.S.B., is a Benedictine nun. She was born in the United States and lived there until adulthood, when her monastic vocation took her to England, where she now resides. Her poems have appeared in The Christian Century, The Windhover, The Ekphrastic Review, Green Hills Literary Lantern, The Catholic Poetry Room, and other venues, both online and print.