Night:     wears itself away    clouds too dense to skim
over the shear granite rim       only a moment before
someone sitting in a mission chair       convinced  101%
convinced    she could see into her very cells
with her unassisted eyes     even into extremophiles
even with the light dispelled     until the mind sets sail
into its private interval of oblivion     a hand falls from its lap
a pen drops to a carpet     a stand of leaves whispers as if
to suggest something tender      yet potentially heart robbing  
 
Sequel:     to a dream in which faces flare up    fuse     dissolve
but there is a lot of color before their vanishing      and a name
for such phenomena      that comes from the belly of a lamb
rather     not a lamb anymore      from the stomach
of a particular canny but kind and     blind-from-birth ewe 

                                                             

                                                       for Susie Schlesinger