The Hush Between Pages

She is the hush between pages,
the pause before thought begins —
a sliver of silver dusk
stretched across my windowsill.

Her paws make no sound,
yet the air changes when she moves.
She walks like smoke with intention,
as if gravity has learned her name.

I call her goddess,
though she does not answer.
Her silence is sovereign,
her glance, decree.

Still—when night folds in,
she curls beneath my ribs,
guarding the heart she thinks too loud.

Her purr is not comfort,
but spell—
low, ancient, certain.
It tells the dark
we are still here.