I could lose myself
in the tilt of
crescent moon,
and not find my way
back ’til light of day.

Nighttime is meant
for the wanderer.

Those who seek
the hidden ways,
who find themselves
tucked in each losing,
who learn to see
the shape of invisible
where the form of
naught, once lay.

I could crawl along
the tips of skies,
until my knees
were scraped with
ragged sheen and
calloused stars.

Nighttime is meant
for the supplicant.

Those who know
grace abounds
when a heart is meek
and a mind is twined
with merciful want:
Show me my place
in the order of things.

I could sink into
the abyss and count
myself whole among
the flight of shadows.

Nighttime is meant
for the veritable.

Those who step into
the space of the dark
and find themselves
raw, bare, full-
in the unformed fields
of soul’s eclipse.

I could stash
the cosmos inside,
so I gleamed
with earnest glow,
to always remember
to transmute
black into bright.

Nighttime is meant
for the alchemist.

Those who learn
the secret, is to take
the elements Life
has granted
and transform them
into galaxies of
ever giving light.