OPTIONAL POETRY

i. Every night has in it a bit of every other night. That’s the secret. ii. These are not blue walls but they could be, might as well be, given how little else has changed– these curtains can go hang themselves. iii. And it’s trees instead of the cathedral beyond thick panes– and double, here, to better staunch a draft iv. Light at night is not itself either, not entirely, like a thought, it carries […]