Light in the Garden of Inner Darkness

comes in the form of a small, white-whiskered cat

(otherwise black, as if not a messenger of light).

The inner dark is down so far deep, it seems

from above, a mild grey only, or a gentle gap,

an undisturbed stillness on the surface of water –

as good as invisible, almost; nothing to remark.

Indeed, it is absence. I could call it loneliness

or loss. But those are the names of clichés

and you are not that – you who are gone

and never gone. In that hidden inner garden, if

the light could shine so deep, I might discern

roses and lavender, hear the clash of metal on stone.

Shine a torch! Bring a spade! Let's excavate! No, not.

Instead, a delicate feline arrives in my life. A gradual

trust is blossoming between us, fragrant. She is new, 

she has nothing to do with my dark (she has her own).

It is only that, when day dawns, the extending sunlight

slowly illuminates even abysses, even labyrinths.

Written for Day 14 of Poetry Month at 'imaginary garden with real toads'.

Also linking to Prompt Nights, which this week has the topic 'Pour me drops of glorious Sunshine'.

And will be linking, too, to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #298.