She looks at things with awarness of lighting’s influence. Something has clicked or flipped or switched inside of her, into the off position. What is there to see in the dark?

She fumbels in it during the sun’s hours, but when he sleeps behind the moon a diffrent kind of brightness lights her way. Things make sense under the starts, hope and vision are restored.

Belly buttons harbor small wading pools of wetness and heat, our faces bombarded with vitamin D and wrinkles. The night has nothing to purpose to you. Black endless skies contain no guest speakers, they prefer to act alone by taking no action. They say life is light and this is proven true by my freckles. But, the night; it craves a thick blackness to hide from recognition and acknowledgment. If you give it very quite thanks it could suck you into the abyss, forever. I’m praying for that.