4 September 2012
The night.
Longer than the day,
In more ways than one.
It comes quick, and slick,
Black paint, oily, thick.
It replaces light with nothing,
An absence that is whole.
It closes the door on the day,
Yet leaves a window open,
In memory.
An unavoidable constant
That is never quite the same.
The night.
A dark and mysterious game.
Night • Opuss № I