darkness draws the curtain of night

from a palate of bible black ink

painting clouds of bats

into corners of the sky

to suffocate the light

until the canvas dies again

to narrow the cornea of shuttered eyes 

pulled by moon magnets towards sleep

that place where memory knits the wool 

of day from patterns of time spent 

spinning experience that stitches

fibres of meaning into the fabric of life 

cut short by the return of morning.