Mysterious Midnight 

There’s a midnight in my window 
Silent, aloof, misunderstood – 
Even by himself. 
He needs no one, 
Except for that pesky 
Need for companionship – 
But only in his terms. 

I come to sit in the window 
Of this room 
And of my heart, 
Warming my presence 
Like the full moon 
On a soft spring night – 
Especially when my spirit 
Matches the quiet joy 
Of his own. 

Oh she found it – 
That beautiful touch 
On the side of my neck. 
I need this. 
I need you. 

No, wait – 
I don’t need anyone. 

I wrote this on a night two weeks ago when Midnight once again joined me in my sacred space. We sat together — he gazing out at the night, me with pen in hand — both of us, I think, pondering, loving, feeling… simply being in this beautiful and heartbreaking world.

Since then, our Midnight has gone missing. There’s been no companionable silence, no sharing of that sacred space. I can’t help but wonder what he was thinking that last evening — the almost-last night he was home.

All I can do now is honor, love, and accept.

He always lived on his own terms.


I Opened the Door for Midnight

Tonight before bed, 
I opened the door for Midnight.
Usually he’s in the same spot,
waiting for the dogs to come in and be put to bed,
where he can have 
the run of the house to himself,
where he can groom all the 
remnants of the day’s adventures,
where he sometimes joins me 
in my sacred space.

For some reason,
my sacred state calls out to him
more than any other time.
We sit in the quiet together,
and separate.

Tonight I opened the door for Midnight…
I didn’t call his name,
at least not out loud,
at least not with my voice.
But oh, did my heart call his name,
as if calling on all of life,
feeding the ache
with every breath I didn’t take,
every silence that filled the doorway
where he wasn’t.

It’s strange,
how a soul so small
can leave a space
that echoes in this quiet.

I don’t know if he’ll return.
But tonight, like always,
I leave the light on,
a quiet signal
sent into the stillness.

And if he comes,
he’ll find the door open,
the night soft,
and me here,
not waiting, exactly,
but listening.