That Good Night

That Good Night

there are times
when the repetitious beating
of life’s intrusions becomes
unbearable.
it is then that I must seek
the solace of my dark aura.
i find its company
disturbingly preferable
to a clear reflection.
its precise outline,
shaded by vague darkness,
is a representation both
misleading in its false depth
and perfect in its summation
to a casual eye-
which sometimes
even i cast
through romantic lenses.
regardless,
it is only him
who i wish
beside me as i sit
in undisputed silence
to engage the disrepute-d
Night.
our hands are held
together by the tip
of a glowing ember
that bobs from
between the fingers to
between the lips.
this Light is the only
one i see;
it brings to life
my friend
and stimulates to me
all the coronal
thoughts of my mind,
which is our purpose
on that good Night.
it is the
ultimate source
of my twin muses
born by shadow-light.
we sit alone,
and then,
when I have assured
myself of their
passive presence,
i Begin in their guidance.
i like the feeling
of something far away
returning to me gently-
like the lengthy journey
of a distant sound
or the passing graze
of a breeze
from down town.
there is the soft hum
of a plane
unseen overhead
and the short life
of a wall of light-
produced by a wandering passenger
on a rolling road-
cast upon the fog of
interloping branches
which are outlined as
solid black in mild protest.  then, perhaps,
it rains and i
raise my head
to catch
a drop
upon my cheek.
i wonder
at its significance
that it should fall on
Me, of all places.
i close my eyes
and imagine the wind
that blows
through swaying trees
and swirling leaves
is not around me
but of me,
and my shadow seems to pulse with this energy.
then i pull
on the tip
of my cigarette
and force the light
at its end
to dance and grow
in furious leaps that
throw the Night
into exactly equal
turmoil
so that when
I open my eyes
i can see that
my aura has
expanded and encompassed
everything-
that the night
is now My shadow.
and perhaps i Felt the drop,
and Heard the plane,
and Saw the light,
or,
perhaps,
i only wanted
to imagine briefly
what it would be
to touch Myself
as softly
and with such compassionate indifference
as something so far away.