The Moon hides its face
But streetlights are unabashed;
They shine like careless stars
In a night of deepest ash.
The souls are tramping the streets -
It's Friday and the week's been hard.
Conversations will be played out.
Wounds will heal and fresh ones might yet scar.
The windows are yellow and dulled
With the light of 50-watt bulbs.
Students talk through the night,
With remorse, laughter and cajole.
The morning will come early;
The solstice is due two days' hence.
The evening will stretch to 10 pm
And the morning will come like a wench.
And slowly the days will grow shorter,
As agreement is paid unto the night.
We'll slip ever closer to darkness
But be saved by earnest light.