My Nights And Her Mornings Poem by Jacqui Thewless

If someone asked, I'd say:
I wanted something
made of matter or not
that comes once-only in a lifetime.

This means I've lived
ages watching daybreaks and waiting
for my shadow to stop re-
counting the old moon's arcs and phases,

weighing the new night against sun-days;
so, growing comfortably used to
lonesome evenings,
even anguish becomes a friend

with acceptable habits.
Sometimes she moans:
if only, today...
and I listen, as always

with an open mind. I know
my lengthy passages through nights become
her mornings, but every
single light is mine.