Poetry

3am

It’s 3am and there’s a glow in the room –

or rather, there isn’t. Not tonight.

Tonight there are shadows, there are whispers,

hums through the house

bringing out the dust from the floorboards.

It’s the restlessness of emptiness,

the hours wondering when there will be movement,

when that glow will return

to lie beside you and sing slumber into your cells.

You wonder if you should catch it next time,

and propose it stay and watch over you

not for hours, but years

in return for you actively recharging

to hold back the dark.