There is nothing black
about the day

about the early darkness
even night

late afternoon
night, after

our star burns
away every speck of light

our dark is not
so black

should we call it black
claim its blackness

after all
night, tonight

shimmers
electric as day

can never utter
as pools of light

have never seen
and when the days are over

all we can be is
frigid,

as always, if you
remember,

your hands
have always been so.

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