Night Signal

Some thoughts only show themselves against the dark. Indigo keeps them whole and vivid. Each return arrives as insistent as the first; nothing about them is dulled by the hour.

On the pale ground, the same preoccupation continues and can barely be seen. Cream over cream, it goes on just the same; almost nothing of it reaches the surface. It did not quieten. It only lost the dark that made it visible.

Most of what anyone carries is never once mentioned. It stays just as close in daylight. Unfaded, unfinished, it waits for the kind of hour that lets it show.

After dark, a room deepens into that same indigo. Whatever has been carried quietly through the day becomes easier to feel.