I miss the dark.
Nights pitchblack as pitch in the seams of the planks of boats
on a starlit sea
When you walk in a garden
With hands out in front in case you walk into a tree.
Where stars let you grope over rocks at the beach with blind eye
And then the moon rises
Like the sunlit reflecting rock that it is. Then can you see.
Can see why.
Why I miss the dark
If you have any comments on this poem, Robin Helweg-Larsen
would be pleased to hear from you.