Inkstains on Pillowcases

When Night Speaks


Sometimes I listen when the night speaks

He tells me lives in song

Orates darkened silence

Ornamented with a million starlit eyes

Wise beyond age

In the hue of Raven

Wearing the color of my

Greatest grandfather king

Of the thickness of my roots

He sings.

Traces them to the pout

Of my lips

Pausing at the rise of my 

Cheeks

Defining the span of my hips

I listen when night speaks

For night—it speaks of me

Mirrors the mysteries of my mouth

Recalls an ancient history

I am like my father, the night

Becoming what I am

Yet always have I been 

Existing in a time before

Time unseen born of eternity

His winds offer calm 

Soothing the scented loneliness

You cannot see pain 

Night hides it away

He holds the map of my identity

Has protected me 

Sheltered me 

Held me close

Bidding I rest in peace 

Through sleepy willows 

Weepy with dew.


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