I slip out, to the night, to stand in the stars--
to be life with dreams inside the dark.
The night seems predisposed to wish,
sharing its dots of metaphor
in subtle gleams of affinity
as they dance beyond the day's recall,
aesthetic in the wondering.
There is revel through anomaly,
welcome past the edge of light,
where lanes of mind and farthest stars
join, sympathetic with the dark.
On lovely lanes of shapeless realm,
preclusion slips from sight,
for . . .
it is night, when shadows fall
to slowly leave the shapes of day
when wounds from wishing fade away,
and there is no end to dreams, at all.