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Night has descended to complete the date,
and the human camp lies burning and lit;
in darkness far-reaching beyond every gate,
corralling the stars in the heavens' broad pit.
Darkness that is an egg's interior
of black albumen and a lighted yolk:
return to the unborn and there prepare
the hatching as one of all human folk.
But the night of the day, is it that night,
after all? Lo, not so hard to discern:
frenetic life glows in its light-
less bowels whom day is of no concern.
But night-time poses a greater stealth yet,
its oft-repeat mode, base reliance,
camouflages a pug-mark in earnest
move forward in diurnal alliance.
Then night follows day and day follows night,
a sequence whose key clearly understood
makes mind but wonder at all the wild schemes
aboard, as it moves with power for good. |
