In the beginning, it was white in the dark.
Your house, the streets, all covered in reflective moonlight.
The pond in the park to the north was a mirror of the moon and
the birds fell tired in the rested trees.
White turned black with nighttime.
The trees, your house, the streets, the birds.
Out of sight were the stars, and all that
welcomed was a sphere, glowing pure
against a negative canvas.
But you walked in, your shirt bright.
You brought the light
and some diamonds
and it saves us. For the black, it
had begun to swallow us whole and the trees,
your house, the streets, the birds.
It ended with colors, vivid and shining
to remind us the dark is but a blanket
to keep intact the fragile feelings and
hearts.
That day, you painted the sky.