The Coming of Night
October 31, 1996

Streetlight twinkling outside my window,
illuminating birch and spruce, covered
in frigid white snow.

I lay in my bed, watching, wondering
wishing I was not alone now, concealed
in doubt and remorse.

Leaves tumble off the trees, floating, gliding
falling to the ground, blanketing the earth,
like multi-hued snow.

My heart sings songs of despair, emptiness
defeat crouched in every corner, waiting
to claim me again.

Streetlight flickers out, leaving me alone
to the night, and, like the leaves of the birch
I sink into sleep.

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