new poem inspired by one of Alison’s favorite words.
We love the night too much by now
for dawn to be unfettered,
it will attach itself to waning light
that will be dying later.
First rays dance trippingly like pollen,
then as translucent meteors,
Even when we all subserviently sleep
at the behest of cosmic discipline,
blackness stays awake surveilling
each soul wrestling with dreams,
since from our shuteye hours
will come a newborn morning.