The Ebony Hour

The elements of night exist
In all depth and sensation.
There’s paranoia in the Silence,
Discomfort in the Darkness;
It is the very apex of night.

In neighborhood roads
There are footsteps
And echoes of stepping,
Mutterings of rustling air,
The hum of light poles
All sound feels foreign.

The stars have dimmed,
But there is no inkling of sunlight.
The sky is not midnight blue,
But Two-o’clock Black.
It’s too late for some,
And too early for others;
It’s an hour of odd business.

Hands hide in pockets,
And eyes shift;
A breath hangs in the darkness.
The Ebony Hour surrounds and enters.