Night Will End

This night is awashed in wooden light,
with a weary moon;
diastole, fill me up for I am a hungry bough,
arm of a tree cragged and rusty in the city, brought up
by urban loves, blacktop hums, ravenous
nooks bending forms, shadow heavy
like sleeves – do you know me? Derrick who stumbles
the cranes, hovering sickles stealing
mothers’ sleep, elephant grey children, clay
weeping in the kiln, recollections
repressed, din monstrous tidal
reap the spire-land come morning, roar
the kittiwakes from the sea, cut moon from her
liquid throne, I’m a cousin
to the rural roads afar, but my swashing darkness
keep on, for night will end
regardless of these waxing words.

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