A late night lullabye of needlepoint and stars. A knitted and cosmic afghan, this not quite blanket, contains more warmth than cocoa, small fingers poking through holes that were already there, too many cracks to fill. Rocking chair mainstay, wrapped on a lap and sung to. Melodies of times long gone, dust covered lyrics of songs archaic in their naiveté, the desire to be timeless fades in the garish light of progressing modernity. Kissed goodnight and left alone with the angels watching from shadowy corners, thick drapes pulled tight against streetlight influence.
I learn to dream, revelling within darkness absolute.