at the edge of night
where abandoned dogs
tarry
in the pitch
an evil impends

cordate horrors
pour out to the
floor
of a room
now on
fire

hold against it.
a dimness in the shortened days.
this lupine night extending
inward and out.

it's been there since the beginning,
unrecognizable at first but
a more certain predilection
now.

toward darkness perpetually,
imperceptibly saddening your brow,

shifting over all these decades
it sinking its teeth
into your nape.

familiarly a consistent pressure
its absence unimaginable
its staunchness unendurable.

one day you awaken with a fear
of dimly lucent days.

a weakened sun
coughing light through those
tendrils, laying hold of
the chattering sky,

made in haste and hate.