night comes to wash out
the canvas with the sun paint
the yellowy canyons of light
scripted with rainbow condensed
unbound from hieroglyphs
descending from earthly delight
above the treetops so faint
in condescending so ifs
at night the crickets try to sing
through lovesongs stricken by wind
their hearts so tenderly light
nothing so close as their doom
the glass upholds its last
until nothing is to gloom
what woodwork is to flight
the nightlights have all sent their message
