The Deep Dark

In open country
all the street lights are doused.

There are only ocean and mountains
respectively,
one
a darker ridge against black,
the other
a song of in-out rolled on shore.

She's in her black period -
though she covers it with razzle dazzle
so you'd never know.

Lighting up the country night
like fireflies' neon bright
alternative to day.

Laughter rims plastic cups of wine
brittle as glass,
like the glass of a coffin
where love lies broken

and the mourner
in her black
razzle dazzles for all she's worth
to light the deep dark.