The Dark That Lingers
Night creeps into midday,
enters the dawn and lingers,
it arrives too early on a summer evening.
This night-light is moonless,
it surrounds you as you drive
to a gravesite, or as you lay
in a clinically white mausoleum
too close to a fraying thread of life.
It slides under a thought, smothers it,
as you reach for a dark-red wine
a glass saturated with nocturnal memories.
This light I speak of
speaks also for every word
that has sunk too deeply
in the shadows of the mind
It has its own sky,
and it is we who create its atmosphere.
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