Poem: The quality of dark

I wait for the ‘adjustment’
The opaque film to… clear
I’ve been waiting a while
Eyes strained, nails driven
Into my palm
The minute hand says, ‘ near’.

I’d watched the light retreat
when the sky turned midnight
I braced against the stars
Dreading the bright orb, which dared to rise
And doused the world blue-white.

This is not called patience,
blood seeps between my fingers!
No, just steady, like the moon’s path
Fleeing far from midnight,
And into the darkness linger.

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