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The Cat Burglar Swirls

Moonlight Dancer


I twirl
and the white skirt swirls
around me
rising into the air
a gentle cloud.

Dark beckons
and I dance
into the night
dance under moon and stars
feet stirring grass
damp with dew
arms raised to heaven
swaying, dancing;
music swelling in my ears
as I dance
in moonlight.

*** *** ***

The Cat Burglar

Totally aware
and totally at random
you come to see me.
Is someone here? I ask.

And you answer --
**the moon. the full moon is inside your house.

My friends and I go running out into the street.

**I'm in here--
comes your voice from my house, but we aren't listening.
We're looking up at the sky.

We are all thinking: the cat burglar has come back.
And your voice calls again --

**yes, the Cat Burglar is somehere in this crowd.

Nearer to you than your self
Or things that have happened to you.

There's no need to go outside.
The moon floats through houses, throwing her clothes in the street.

I take this as a sign to start singing.


The poem "Moonlight Dancer" is written by Kiota, in 2003, for a submission to Stone Soup; the Cat Burglar poem is by Rumi, around 1263. Rumi was a mystical poet who looked at the moon over Turkey. Kiota looked at hers above the West Bank. And, later on, here in Holland.

Seven and a half centuries separate these poems. More time beyond that, two nights ago it was the night of All Hallows; in the Wiccan teachings, the season of the Ceremony of Samhain, where the veils between the worlds grow very thin so that touching of spirits can take place outside of the ways we measure time. And outside my window the Dutch moon was double, almost triple --- her white skirts swirling and dropping away, drawing shafts on my floor:

It's not a piece of photo trickery, this is what my Digital Rebel XSi left with me. And the XSi was tightly anchored, clamped to its tripod, not moving at all.

I couldn't quite see her this way with my naked eye. But that did not matter.


arms raised to heaven. Indeed.

Two nights ago the Cat Burglar had come back, swirling her skirts.

Only there were two of her.

Possibly, three.

Depending how you look at it, and where. And with whose eyes. When the veils grow thinnest.

Blessings Be.


kiota too late for the stars
Moonfire Marion Bridge / Brad

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