Transformation

Ebon night is seeping away,
like spilled ink slips on satin.
Curling its toes, yawning wide
and ready for bed and sleep.

Quicksilver shadows dart
like lightening bugs in August.
Knowing their end is coming
soon, they scatter to hide away.

Little stars tiptoe off to their room,
dragging slip streams behind.

Mother moon counts her children,
tucks them in in satin blankets,
kisses their cheeks with pale lips,
and then taking herself by the hand,
climbs the stairs in the wake of dawn.