Just Past 11:00 P.M.

Night waits just past 
the final caress 
of a weary sun, 
on the shoulder of 
a distant horizon.

Clouds will bleed 
orange and gold, 
at its passing, 
and stars will poke holes, 
in the dark blanket 
that covers us.

These tiny suns 
will make up for 
our own suns absence, 
forming lovely patterns 
in the sky.

Dreams will be poured 
generously from the 
Big Dipper, 
for the older souls, 
and from the little 
dipper for the young.

Meteors will sail 
in long streams across 
the Milky Way, 
only to be swallowed 
in the depths 
of a bottomless space.

Planets cold, 
dead, and distant 
will cast their 
jealous, cratered eyes 
on Earths gleaming jewel, 
teeming with life, 
as it leaks dreams 
back into the heavens.

There each dream

will be flung into 
fantastic tales hooked, 
on the ends of comets, 
sending what's left 
to be spun into the blended, 
multi-gleaming rings of, 
Saturn, Neptune, and Uranus.

"Goodnight America, 
Godspeed to a restful sleep."