Caesura

I thought the night came in like fog,
like quanta, in degree,
the cosmic umbra of a consciousness.
But falling was the better choice,
a trembling twilight curtain,
then the blanket of the day
that threw itself at that last peace
and set the scene where all the particles
of dust were past remembering;
the skydome opened,
the latent breath a mystery.

Here was a portrait sketched in blackness
from beyond the now...
the unknown second uncreated,
time in its arrest.
And yet to come?
~