solitude
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One glowing window in a sleeping house holds the last confession of a night that still has not learned how to end.
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Lucifer becomes the quiet guardian of unfinished poems, walking through the dark as though it were simply another room.
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An abandoned house may choose one soul to remember it, and tonight a candle bends toward the answer hiding upstairs.
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At one in the morning, an old house keeps watch while the rest of the world sleeps and every dark window seems to stare back.
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At the edge of forgetting, an old house seems to know the name of the woman sitting beneath its porch with a candle against the dark.
Between Bruises & Blooms 