haste the day

night, thick as canvas,
cold as an absolute —
it will never abandon you to
wild lightning and burning bushes,

it will rid these flares, each an SOS,
from the invisible tree-branch webs
that creep, spindle-like, over windows,
and its breath will cover everything
like the deepest and blackest of fogs;

and you, shivering dreamer,
will feel it weighing down on your chest;
and when you open your mouth,
it will rush in like water,
taking with it a thousand ghosts,
each one ten times more ancient than the last.