Distant night, violent in vaporous, artificial brightness
Empty of safety, but sleepy all the same
Draping the hills in the eternal distance
That is brought by the absence of sight
Hiding the King of Fire in danger and ignorance
And robing even the sharp-eyed in uneasiness
Brings, still, its own luminosity, unlooked-for and despised
Graceful sun, Lord of Nurture and God of Burning and Dessication
Brings a wailing, eviscerating screech
To the eye used to streetlights
But shouts a welcome, all the same
Hiding in its light the unwary and stupid
Preserving them for another feast
An audience to their fumblings and their guilt
Lighting their way to their own little destinies
