There was a brilliance of lights
where streets were strung tight.
A weaving of shadows and footsteps.
Gifts of plenty and excited faces.
The evening curtain of infinity space
painted a dark background for stars
beaming through ages of air.
There is nothing fast with night.
It covers with blankets the sins of day;
the sounds soothe the sleeping and
entertain the young. Breezes twist
around corners, lifting the edges of
uncombed hair. Clouds find no favor
under moonlit nights, slipping to
horizons on silent tracks. Footsteps
move to the street, searching places
of safety and common thoughts.
Roger Singer 