subtext

Night’s not as open as the day;

her space leans into us like curves

forming  a tighter cave, a tighter cage.

To comfort, we talk through the dark

whispering across a nascent fire;

I listen close to your words in hope

I can construct a consolation against

all the fears I gather from the day.

Day’s light provides a multitude

of minute divisions; one can almost

mark where one turns into two,

where words soft flow grows sharp,

and we cut our eyes, and bleed tears.