Black

Darkness, velvet time of deep depression,
Of degradation, predatory sorrows; deadly
Some would say.

Without that clean, sweet breeze-bearing
Bliss of night, though,
How would we appreciate the moon's eternal,
Mutable glory?
Or wish on that star, right there?

Or clear our minds, o'erpouring the day's
Flickering multicolored images with... black.
Black of sleep, of eyelids' interiors, of silken curtains of night.

Black as sin? Black as coffee, whose rich scent
Draws the night's own and the night's owned?
Black as velvet, as a singer's crooning voice,
As the overlarge eyes of child painted in
Ticky-tacky gaucherie that will, at least, pay someone's
Bills.

Black as pitch, as tar, that preserves the past to snarl
In glory again at LaBrea?

Black full of stars, full of images, full of wishes and whispers,
And the endless, rustling ruffling of life --

Break white and watch it become all colors.

Mix them all together again and get
Black.

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