They tell me that the night is black,
but I do not believe them,
darkness is
red-speckled,
        flowing
awash in crimson hue,
it is pink and puckered like a scar,
always present,
like shadows on a sunny day
are twisted
        doubled
more alive in sun.
They say the night is black,
but I do not believe them.
It is open wide and gushing
sanguine in its purest.