In The Frail Night

How is it a man With so much to say Sits alone by lamplight Awaiting love to illuminate The hours of his all too late life Believing she is soon to arrive And will carry with her The glow of the Winter moon In hands as soft as a dove's coat As she purrs with the voice of a content kitten Somewhere else in the stretched out evening She keeps her fingers crossed In a crocheted corner of her own conceal Convinced the clock on her wall is lying It cannot be that another day Has ended in the same way Two perfect silhouettes Seemingly looking for one another Their stories of sweet searching sent out Over canyons and valleys Bridging waters and winding through woods Breathing but one shared breath Each sighing in the silence Of their unwanted solitude With only an echoed exhale From afar... And neither notices Yet the night knows And hangs it's head in shame