Night...

I go into the black air.
Night's on the move,
patience in its foliage,
shifting
its great space,
round,
perforated with stars.
what feathers is it wrapped in ?
Or is it naked ?
It falls on metallic
mountains
covering them with the salt
of hard stars.
One by one,
every single mountain
goes out,
goes out under its wings,
goes under its black handwork.
At the same time
we are
black mud,
discarded
puppets
who sleep
without being, day clothes thrown aside,
gold spears, tasseled hat,
life with its streets and numbers,
there it all stays,
a heap of poor pride,
a hive without sound,
oh, night, open night,
mouth, boat, bottle,
not just time and shadow,
not just tiredness,
something breaks in, fills up
like a cup,
dark milk,
black salt,
and falls
into
its well,
a destiny,
all that exists burns up,
the smoke
goes looking for space
to stretch out the night,
but
from tomorrow's
ash
we will born.
People can go to...