Poetry About Darkness

The room releases every familiar edge. A clock grows louder in the unseen hall. Outside, moths circle what little light remains. My eyes begin the slow work of forgiveness. Darkness is not empty, only unannounced. By morning, I have listened to its shape.

Return once more to the exact detail. A clock grows louder in the unseen hall. Its silence contains more than we expected. Darkness is not empty, only unannounced. Careful seeing becomes its own reply. By morning, I have listened to its shape.

The room releases every familiar edge. Hours pass, but the image does not leave. Outside, moths circle what little light remains. It returns us to night, fear, rest, uncertainty, hidden life, and the senses learning beyond sight. Darkness is not empty, only unannounced. The day continues with a more attentive heart.