Dear Night

Is the robin resting, dear Night? Or is this hole I’ve fashioned into a home the source of a nest upturned? To think the cause of this silence yearned for what my leafless limbs could gather and this hungry beak could break. All for the sake of a white-picket birchbox muted by the steel I…

The Night Train

The Night Train All children’s ears fall on the pulse of the night train’s shiftless hum, never knowing where it’s going, or in turn, is coming from. Every year, its starlight travels low, as to not disturb the night, whose perfect moon, beyond the trees, is turning hills to white. A quiet steam sifts through…