Sheets of white surround me in
A blanket of feathered softness as dreams of him linger
on the edge of sleep, my being cloaked in night’s darkness.
Through my darkness, I watch the night shadows drift past the windows,
They have lives of their own, the darkness becomes them.
The textured blackness of night can be comforting in its sameness.
A sameness that frees me from the eyes of judgment.
And as I lie back and watch his image leave the edge of sleep
I feel him join with me in whispered prayers the essence of which lingers on when sleep has fled.
But they are short lived prayers and are consumed by the night shadows to hide in the sameness of the textured blackness
Unanswered, dissolving and alone