Notes Towards a Goodnight

  Night yawns its dark



     door left ajar,



          and I declare nothing



 



but this white intention



     to say goodnight



          clearly. This is clearly



 



a manner of speaking




     against but regrettably



          through this break-black,



 



over-interpretative reek,




     through this way of speaking,



          where *break* is consonant



 



with *bleak*, through all




     that’s left for us. Along



          with this goodnight,



 



which reminds me,




     there was no snow,



          is no snow this year.



 



We cannot forget




     to consult the pond.



          Not unlike your dreams,



 



the pond is a magic,




     the mirror of what’s



          fair, of creatures, of water



 



cohering with water, as all



     above my head is how



          tonight now feels.



 



Acrid clouds a black




     shade of bleak. I shift



          my footing a tad



 



and hope things change,



     and already



          you’re fast asleep.