Tapetum Lucidum

She wakes whenever I forget to miss
the creak step near the top with stuttered feet.
And phosphor pupils beam from the abyss
of blankets. In the darkness she can cheat
my unlit lenses, hearing’s incomplete
perception: slow or skinny, frail or faint;
eyes glowing like a sundog or a saint.
The rest is hidden. She blinks into black
and I need light, a spill of light to paint
her into fur and bones and death and back.

It isn’t the dizain, but it’s a dizain. I was hoping to jog the other one loose, but no luck.