The festival is far off.
The light is a lie.
He is standing in the park, alone.
He wears white silk,
And he knows he is not awake.
So he flees terrified into the dream.
Cool and silent, the night wraps around him.
“Are you the night?, he asks in a timid voice.
How he wished that he was in shining armor.
In full armor.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved. 2016.