She Writes At Midnight
She writes at midnight
when whole towns have laid low their tiny heads
and only the one small light she writes by mars the opaque ebony
and only the little scratch-scratch-scratches
of her black pen on ashen paper
break the cool stillness
-the flow of silence which
the night entangles itself into.
And her heart stirs.
Only her heart.
And only briefly
when she sees the long deep grey shadow
the pale light and the dark pen create
across a wall washed white
in an otherwise black room