Night is an accident—
Spilled moonlight, scattered stars, unshapely shadows.
But Daytime forgives.
It sighs ever so slightly,
Shaking Its head as dawn approaches,
Sending leaves flying as the first rays of sun
Lap up leftover puddles of milky moonlight.
Brush placed firmly in hand,
Daytime paints over the scattered stars
With a uniform blue coat.
It sweeps up the sporadic shadows,
Replacing them with flickering sunbeams,
And the waking world is perfect.
But as I sit in dusky darkness in the evening,
Testing the black waters of Twilight with the tips of my toes
Before It completely engulfs me,
I realize
Darkness breeds beauty.
The stars shine gorgeously albeit haphazardly,
And the spilled moonlight is the color of warmth,
Of comfort,
Like the dripping wax of a waning candle.
The shadows play with me,
Hiding and revealing, hiding and revealing.
Night is an accident
And daytime is perfect.
But sitting on the cusp of darkness,
I thank Mother Earth for imperfections.