I hold the night to my chest like a pearl
or when I’m sad, an opal
- and have you seen the night sky in Paris in the summer? An opal it is.
And around me like a blanket I burrow inside
When she was sad my mother burrowed into bed under blankets;
I burrow into the night.
And it is mine, to share with the lights, and the people still outside, living lively lives.
And the cars racing past and the hidden stars
(afar and I find that I don’t mind that I can’t see them. Instead I peer through lit windows.).
Inside me a light glows, a switch flicked on by twilight.
I want to talk, or vacuum, or write.
Sometimes it’s the only time.
The day runs past me, the sunlight flashing into my eyes.
Often I fall asleep just before it comes back. There is nothing like the sunrise.
Like a soothing hand on my brow.
All is well; sleep now.