Because the floor and air were cold, she waited
until the covers warmed her to undress,
then slipped naked in a rustling lightlessness
except for a blue shimmer that palpitated
like an especially hesitant firefly
over her glimmering skin: A stroked cat’s ear,
touched in a properly crackling atmosphere,
will so illumine its gesture. But why
insist on classification of the spark?
What does having a name for it change?
Thinking of it is still wild and sweet and strange—
my young wife flashing softly in the dark.
© Jack Butler