Tell the night I am not afraid.
Tell it I will meet its darkness outside,
My weapon drawn
My arms open in embrace.
Tell the night I am not ready to leave
And that hatred will not choke out the trees I have worked so long
So hard,
To plant.
I am not afraid of absence
Of void
Of emptiness—
I am not afraid of space that must be filled,
Years that must be lived,
The mortality that reserves an empty seat in our various afterlives.
Tell the night that I will not go softly—
That my footsteps will echo,
Even if my voice cannot.
My valley of beauty
A long curated
Personal museum
Of cellulose and budding leaves
Will not fall.
Tell the night I am not afraid.
Tell morning I am awaiting its arrival,
And will go down fighting
To the last
Breath.