Walking at night bathed in the non-light
Of the New Moon, artificial street lights
Marked safe passage along dusty streets
To the central square fountain, half-way home
To the bungalow’s comfort, mosquito
Net shelter of repose. Suddenly, the
Witching hour descended and the lights
Were cut off. Blackness like the iron-rich
Pottery, Bidar-ware, absorbed us
Absurdly stumbling. But again, soft
Filigree, like inlaid silver shining
Soft-glow, whisper-like illumination
Made plain every step. God’s Heavenly
Host star-kiss’d us home to safe slumber.