A night washed away in brushstrokes;
Smeared stars across a faint black sky.
While a faceless crowd walks about underneath,
Numbly unaware of the melting night–
Living to-day through promise of tomorrow.
Reassured that Monday follows Sunday—
With all eyes fixed upon dancing shoestrings
They’re blinded to the night’s dripping moon
Pooling into a glass
To be toasted down to midnight