The silver sliver of a crescent moon
Cringes for its solitary state
Staring longingly into the city

The sky is black cardboard
With white shining holes
Like an old school light brite

Large white moths circle the lamps
Like little suicide bombers
While skeeters stalk and bite me

The night stills to the speed of silence
Even the shadows stand motionless
In fear of disrupting this peaceful repose

The long thin branches
Wave up and down
Saying good by
To that last good night
Light blue sky
Leave the leaves in the tree
Fluttering like spirit fingers

The night passes  
Like the old year
Bringing in
Singing friends
And baby rays of
Sunlight
Going from cool blues
And black skies
To lighter and warmer
Morning colors