Night looked back
Night looked back at the morning sun,
rising behind the rolling banks of clouds,
low and pressing,
upon the twisted backs of supine hills,
angular houses,
their jagged rooftops
like teeth
in the dull metallic
of grey skies.
Night pulled the cloak of hours
from his powerful shoulders,
and shook the stars
from his long bedraggled hair,
they fell in dew drops of millions,
through the soft,
silent,
stillness,
of the chilled dampness
of the morning air.
For it was a hushed morning,
the earth damp,
the crisp dawn of light
in dewdrops,
and dreams,
of his starlight,
awakening,
stretching the bark
and branches
of trees, slumbering
in the half light,
still.
And as the sun rose,
sending tendrils of light in nets of colors,
across the morning sky,
night turned,
and slipped
into the sharpening shadows
of blindness.
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