Dark Night 3

The dark night is dark
like the trees folding their wings
of branches in their darkest sleep.
The wings, the birds caught in the spell of her sleep
are waiting to find release.

A glow somewhere at the heart
is radiating in the dark, the night is listening.
A dispersion of a light,
 an aura that trembles and refrains
from suffusing the hidden moon
with any of the ray's evanescent glow.

Try not to tell this night
that nothing is lost, nothing forgotten.
All is hidden behind the hills.
The night is past belief;
so let her sleep. The sounds
of the cosmos and their rounds
of eternal orbits around the sun
hold no meaning for the night.

Across the globe, behind the hills
there is a sunrise she will not know.
Across the globe, behind the hills
there is a juvenile sun who will not know
that there is a silent night
holding the sleep to her bosom
as if a child has just arrived
that needs to wake the sleeping blossom
of the tenderness that has gone to sleep