for Tom Waits
The darkness within darkness

comes and so the child in
all of us rises, after midnight,

slipperless, with no lights on.
Still asleep, he or she walks

barefoot over cold floors
headed towards warm rooms

that are never there. All
nightmares last well into the day

that follows. Attempting to
forget merely guarantees that

we will not forget. The blinds
are closed, the doors stay shut.

Shadows gather. Darkness
within darkness comes, and

so the child in all of us rises.