As I clear my desk,
by chance I catch a glimpse
of the blue sky
through the leaves of the trees.

The blue skies will soon be gray,
and the green leaves, but silhouettes.
Then the gray will be black,
and the silhouettes of the leaves
will, quite obediently,
blend with the black skies.

Then all will be black,
the time of the month being such
when the moon
wills itself to faintness.

So I close my eyes
and let the blue be gray
and the gray be black
(not that I can do anything about it).

And I open my ears
to the sounds of the unknown insects
and the unnamed sounds of geckos
and the familiar barking of the dogs.

Much, much later,
even the insects will tire,
the dogs will seek their usual spots
and sleep,
and even the geckos
will stop croaking
(if that is indeed what they do).

Then all will be quiet,
as the night should be.
Except me.
I will be snoring
(not that I mean to).

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