In the morning just past 6,
though it might as well be
the middle of the night.
Headlights cut the dark,
but it always grows back.
The fog gives an illusion of light
through the ambiguity it stirs,
makes snow in the street lamp
cones: makes me think of figures
in trench coats along the docks,
with a secret…
or the steam blown from
the snouts of war horses,
night-mares…
the dark is the great equalizer,
alone with my senses down
a dead end road:
through an arc of light
that makes a small space
on the ground seem real
for a minute…
through the other side to the dark,
its own shape,
not an absence of light,
but a presence
of dark.

Image by James Abbott McNeill -“Nocturne,” Wiki Commons

Categories: poetry

Tags: autumn poetry, dark, nature imagery, pacific northwest, poem, poetry, walking in the dark, William Pearse writer