Someone says ‘look how dark it is, how black’

to a sky mottled by streetlights

almost navy blue with the singing

of bulbs whistling away shadows,

their footprints of fake dawn

greying the corners of this bedroom

so the only true night is behind lids

of clamped tight eyes

wishing I could say ‘looking how dark it is,

look how black and thick this night sits

now the hours have turned to quiet.