These nights, as I sweat or snuggle by turn, I have taken to leaving my curtains wide open. With the room dark the night outside is luminous and its characters are my sleepless friends.
At my window the sleepless congregate, thought goblets fizz-busy and nebula hair; the pregnant moon with her swelling belly, spoon-back silver… another immaculate conception; pale clouds scrape the dark, their gauzy netting. So flimsy our defence against the infinite, and this symposium of stars: we’re all flattered by their coquettish blinking. At this purple banquet we sip mulled squid ink suffused with time. Night’s invigilators.