until the night stops bleeding
gutted, spilling stars, gauche display
it should be ashamed of itself
laid bare
in front of the entire universe

until it stops speaking nonsense
to little travellers
after the sun has disappeared;
until it grows wiser, knows not
to open its arms so wide, as if
encompassing the whole earth

it should keep silent.
it should not betray its secrets
to every being that
traipses under the
treacherous sun.