Mystère

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O what beauty is Night!
She is swathed in cloaks of thick black shadow
and stillness, such stillness
that a gnarled branch shifted by bird or
scuffling rodent
seems thunderous and revolutionary
as have barricades and musket-balls,
lunar landings and discoveries by satellite.
Yes, I much prefer to be enthralled by dusky Night
to sit ensconced in darkness and
feel mysterious shades dust across my skin
and believe in what is not there
than to skip through the streets of dawn
where everything is as it seems
and no more,
where pavement and walls alike are touched
by yellow light and the sorrow of seeing
and simply knowing.





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