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.