I pretend
               the light slips
through the blinds
from the moon,
for he is friendlier
than the street-lamps,
and better for talking
to. Although tonight,
                         wide, tireless
eyes blink,
                    silent,
                                   shifting
downside-up in amniotic
bedding as they must have
turned all those moons ago,
                                                 away
from a mother's life-blood
cadence, discovering
a world of
                               their own.