It's the nights like indigo
spilled as black as ink
that make me think of you.
And in my night I've seen
the tears across the pillow,
the impression of your head
as the night glow spills
across your face.
missing, are the sounds of your
breathing, hold me and
enfold me in downy warmth,
my strength. For the moment
in indigo nights is
an unseen grace; I've been.
