Night and Shattered Thought
The man of bricks, he stutters southward towards home, towards good mountains. The gentle kind that smile, soft and rounded. Not the jagged ones, the sharp ones. The ones that only let a couple people through. These ones are slow and a little tired, but they always have time for you n time for me too, no matter how much I want to pretend otherwise.
Hold tight to good things, I think I heard them whisper. Nobody has yet monopolized the warm night air that smells sweet like mulch and new grass. And so after parking the car and basking in the dark, I am allowed to stay there for a very long time. Voice from the dark asks why not stay longer? I do not have a good answer, there is no justification for wasting the night the way I do.
In my selffulfilling way, I will learn to waste the rest of the things I am supposed to learn to love. Strange types of addiction, running from the inconvenience of the dark and tossing away its secrets and all the quiet I am offered.
Challenged in strange ways, in defiance of the understandings of the intelligent and well meaning, the vastly present carers and the glorious attention payers. Know my heart and see that for you, I have been a happy coward and I never asked you what you need. Forgive my careless half-devotion to your worthy, worthy cause.
O God teach me to love the night well. Teach me to steward its peace and honor its vigil, eternal, unbroken.