Random Acts of Poetry

Random Acts of Poetry

Psalm to the Night

The dark is my refuge; it hides me well.
It whispers strange advice about moths and ink:
thoughts spinning webs full of ornate secrets
and sleek lies, like soft fur.
It tastes of moon powder or dry milk, smells like the rain-soaked earth
and coffee grounds. Planets fill the sky with holy sequins,
so many tiny mirrors, bright and indifferent; I am made of dark matter.
Cold fingers massage my limbs as the hours drift by like slow ghosts, and I shiver
and do not sleep. I welcome no morning when life hurts.
Shadows offer safety from buzzing tubes of laboratory light
and shelter the candle flame still flickering within.
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