Pretty Nights Poem by Andrew Crosby

The way she wears
the night is beautiful. Ebony
drips
from the moon's hands
onto her eyes. Tonight is her
hair and yesterday
shadows danced in her palm
under the rhythm
of twilight memories. The
stars
will leak off the edge and
pour down from the sky,
and there she waits to capture
it all,
shining like a
lantern. The sun, who
by then is already doubled down,
retired into her smile, will
rise again. But
for now, the night is so
pretty
on her.