Night floats above us like the breezy underside
Of a great, black cloth,
The sky tattered and torn
And spattered with brilliant, glowing stars.

We pull it’s coolness over our heads,
As a child would a blanket,
A temporary shield against the devils
Of our own imaginings.

We are both watchful and resigned,
Knowing that the sun will return
And soon resume its rage, unaltered.
We do not sleep.

Instead, we wait and wait
In shades of black and blue,
Drinking in the coolness.
We wait.