A Scarlet Paw-Print Poem by Denis Mair

(for something Danaé Écarlate wrote, see below*)
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I love the cat's scarlet paw-print:

that elegant stride emerged to assure me---

the darkness is much more than a zone

of perils and abandonment. It is the womb

from which all living things come.

Her print brings a message of the incubation chamber

that the night has curtained off for each. Oh when

will her winding course pass this way again?

My surmises of her night adventures become a prayer;

my rosary is strung with beads of anticipation.
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{* Here is what Danaé wrote: }
In the dance of words, where scarlet bursts, sometimes you have to pause, cease to chatter. The poem is silent, in a bursting silence, where the red dances, vibrant and thrilling.
The verb faints, leaving space, a breath of mystery, a pause in grace. For in that silence, truth is revealed, the scarlet calms, in a veiled whisper.
Thus, in the art of the word, it is wise to end, when the scarlet dance begins to fade. The poem, then, breathes, free from its chains, in a silence that speaks, louder than the plains.
Danaé Écarlate