I would like a night left alone with poetry
when the darkness of the sequestered  wishes that went ungranted swirl above the root of their conception
where all ill is met with the frankness needed
to climb a mountain in which the elevation is high
the feelings dizzying enough to make it easier
to want to trek down

I would like a single night to be multiplied  into months and years that chip away the ice top peak of such quiet black midnights
hidden at the crescent moon of my experience