THAT TIME OF THE NIGHT

In the sanctuary of night
the world is a little closer,
a little smaller and
can fit into my eyes,
eyes full of wonder,
eyes that dream wide open,
and outside my upstairs window
I see the feeble glow of
street lights being eaten by the night,
spots in the darkness like
candles in midnight rooms
and outside nothing moves but
cat-footed shadows upon the wind
bringing peaceful contentment as
black drifts into blue-black
drifts into gray into new light of day,
and in the silent solitude
of early morning dawn
I hold on to the
last bit of this time,
when all can be,
and all is mine.

December 19, 1993