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.