The night’s fine, and nothing can go wrong -
this cushion of time means comfort, means calm
the winding darkness itself its own psalm
through the valley, the shadows however long
are pushed back at the tip of your eyelashes;
at the steady pulse of your relaxed wrist;
your smile’s proof enough that worlds exist
in one fallen leaf; in shooting star flashes.
The day comes; light uncovers primal fears
bred into the bone of every moment;
the foam of calm ebbs out in one spent
tide, scoops out the solid resolve of years.
Stay please, let the darkness be the morninglight does not always enhance everything.