Sometimes in the latest hours,
When sleep is denied by the midnight sun,
One can fantasize the darkness.
That unfettering, unfulfilling pitch,
Which swallows all of the light.
Within there is a craving,
To be near that edge of night…
Perhaps where a streetlamp stands alone,
On a street shaded in the hours of evening.
Creating a cone of luminosity.
I can imagine the warmth under it,
But I can only hope to feel the cold beyond it.
I cherish the way in which
Those within the light cannot see into the dark
Cannot see what might be around them
Right outside their line of sight
Cannot know who might be watching them
Enclosing, ever closer, yet undetected
Exposure is but one step away
-wait, who owns the step be in this imagery?
-Is it my figure who is consumed by shadows?
I can imagine, being bathed in that absence of warmth
Hidden completely out of sight.
Looking at the one who stands under the light.
Admiring our differences,
Acknowledging the space between us,
The distinct separation of luminescence.
Yet, knowing,
That divide has nearly crippled their vision,
They have become blind to that which sets us apart,
Whereas I can see into their light…
As well
about the darkness.
