In a younger time
I did my work
in late darkness,
in after hours,
fighting sleep;

at my best
in a room
with lights off,
door closed behind me
to leave
what had happened in daylight
outside.

Now,
my work unfolds
at night’s end,
before dawn;

after sleep, still
in darkness, still
in a black room
with door closed.

I once was glad
for that darkness
which pulled a shroud
over what had been;

I may be more glad
for this darkness,
a stage curtain
which when pulled back
frames and shapes
what’s yet to come.