So this poem is a direct result of my wife making me clean up because we've got family coming in for the holiday.  I found this buried in a stack of papers that I'd pulled out of an old binder.  I'm pretty sure it's nearly 20 years old -- from around 1993-1994.  

Now, don't get me wrong.  The poem as originally written is HORRIBLE.  Extraneous words, bad placement, etc.  But it gave me the opportunity to edit and rewrite, which is something I need a lot of practice doing.

So here it is.

The Dark

(c) Drew Nicholson 2012

The dark makes everyone beautiful

soft focus the crags of age into the gently rolling hills of earlier years

clouds of eyelashes scud gently across your seafoam gaze

The dark makes everyone younger

brushing good full dirt into the cracks of accountability

encasing the resonant memories

The dark makes everyone quiet

enveloping sound with silence, deafening even those who do not hear

but listen, there! crickets hop across the meadow, I can tell

The dark makes everyone real

hands soft and gentle as I brush through the weight of tears

exposing everything masked by the light

The dark makes everyone open

the only place where you completely relax

no fear of the dark for you or I.