Dark Light

Dearest Night, Come Swiftly

by Sylee Gore

As a child of four, she learned to fall asleep
                                 Night switches on his yellow lights

A child of eight, she prayed for breath to buoy her dreams
                                  Then the poles switch, the metal warmth clings to the lids

Each morning, a scattering of eyelashes on the nylon pillowcase
                                   He calls sleep Schmorpheus, his laugh loud

Twenty years later, she pierced the dreaming canyon          
                                   Even the ice pen tracks sleep’s jerks and troughs
She rode the golf cart until a crevasse gave way to sleep
                                   Dreams’ rebus

On her deathbed, last night, each angel held a printed indigo card  
                                   He means a faint shimmer

Photo courtesy of Kid Cairo
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