The dark creeps in the forests which roll through the hills
When the sun has yawned and said good-night.
The dark is rustling in the lightless brush.
It’s thick like grandma’s quilted blanket.
It’s the creaking in your bicycle chain
As the gears lurch and grind and haltingly carry on.
It’s the silence of surrounding empty trees upon daylight’s dear departure.
It’s the snap which breaks it
The jangle like dull bells as the chain falls, broken in the mud.
It’s the memory of every horror movie like a rushing wave
The memory of every article you’ve ever read
Of kidnappings and murders and rapes.
The dark stares back at you when you look into the forest
And there’s nothing there to see.
Light—a winking planet in the distance
Pin-pricks of faithful stars steady in the night
Dead undying—faithful to faithless ends—
And flickering flames adorning graves
Like so many stars fallen from the sky
Traipsing over grass and hill and peering up at hard-carved stones
To see what is this life on earth.
It is All-Saints Day
And little dancing wicks wake to sing
Flickering ballerina flames
Who might find themselves dance-less in the day
For it is the night
Light longs for.