Winking, the night drives on
What with it’s charcoal reprieve and
It’s cradling of our;
My, Yours, Whoever’s mind.
Absence of light is great
For the fermentation of
Seeded secrets we keep, buried in deep
To the earth.
Never mind the stars, they’re
Not listening, anyway.
I am the night, and it’s
Absence of light, which makes
The poor things glisten, as though…
In wake or through sleep
It’s your secrets I keep, invisibly inked
Then stitched in, over
I know that you know,
That I know what you know.
What I don’t know, you
Know of neither. Those questions
Barely even yet thought through,
So as to be assigned a number.
This is why, it is preferable
To sleep; the night needs no
Distractions. From the insomniac
Minds, like children asking, tugging,
Sobbing. No, the night is not some
Sitter. You must find a way to sleep.
I need perfect quiet, when
Sewing these seams. Not
Un-picking the stitches. More
Embroidery over these glitches.