When the sun slips behind the curtain
the matriarch of the night
ascends in shimmering silence
her glowing light caressing all
there is a hush of wonder
that for a moment, stills the heart
even the shadows bend before her
she rules the latticed darkness
rests deep in the souls of poets
she knows the secret names of stars
and calls to them all as if they are kin
and we joyfully gather around her
measuring our longing by her waxing
our losses by her waning
and the threads of her gold lingers
long after the night is done
©Ann Bagnall
Annie's Poetry 