WHERE COLOURS GO AT NIGHT

WHERE COLOURS GO AT NIGHT

Sing your heart's heaven,

for there is no reason not to,

the roses will call your name

long into the evening

and if your nest is made of

grass and love and hope

it will see you through

the startle and the rustle,

the trespass and the spill

across your boundary,

the last border broken,

and fiery gold will brush against

the foxglove's open arms

one last time before her white bells toll,

summoning us all to sleep

in the shadows,

where we lose our selves at last,

where we relinquish the hues of day,

where colours go at night.