The night wanders solitary homeless unloved
Quietly waits for that warm hug
From the separated day, the other side,
Both pulled apart by the earth.
The darkness leaks out of her eyes, solid tears
Wind screams the barren terrain… like that mad woman in
The famous attic.
The witching hour!
Attending shades- cold moon- stars
Low whispers bubbling out of an abyss
Heard by a Dante-figure.
It passes but slowly, the terrible stretch.
The welcome chirpings from a waking sky
Morning is here!
Fading night/ incipient day
Thus, the duo meets twice a day:
In a rosy dawn and
Again---in a brief pale-faced dusk.
Both the hours limited, fragile
Like a rose in a vase in a museum.
The trysts--- containing a fusion
Of gloom and brilliance
Night and day embracing/dissolving
In those tiny minutes
That vulnerable state of being/un-being.
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