Linear in its literal unfolding, night
catches the unaware, flinging bat
wings over everything; even anger
is less intense than darkness, which
challenges the heart of everything. One
of the Cartesian four, time’s necessity
engulfs, runs as a never-ebbing tide. Walking
in an unlit wood, sounds hovering close
to your ears, you may hear an owl’s
velvety call; carrying no further than
the flick of a wrist, it empties like dry
sand. But a great cat’s silky glide stalks
by unnoticed. The night has many answers
for that, all dark or deceptive; the paradox
in this picture does not disappear when
you open your eyes: light asks its own
deft questions, although they are never linear.
Originally Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 2.
