Whatever the Night Anticipates

While waiting for the moment we are here we are there sometimes weak sometimes strong We wait to say nothing on this line between space We trespass against others and on landscapes flashing words floating for better or worse with every sense except sight Piles and piles of thoughts under thoughts even impressions of thoughts are in the constellations and their emptiness is there emptiness if we look standing on the edge of both present and past Do we know it like the night anticipates the within Is the voice a no body or the patron saint of improbability