Goodnight, O Night,
for I feel my pity flame.
Your tests awaken thoughts,
moments rising like embers in the dark.
And you, O Night—
the fire that burned the city,
the wind I gather
to give voice to all my misery.
Here I sit, O Night,
running a fuse that sparks my love
into eternity, into forever.
Could this be You?
Why should I cry?
I feel no measure left within me, O Night.
My night has fallen fully into You,
and then—
I hear no more.
Sweet Divine, O Night,
teach me to trust the Author,
to lean on nothing seen,
to appear only in hope.
Letters from Xhale the magazine Words that breathe. Stories that Linger, 