Night, meet me on the couch.

To sit, still, the only motion the rising and falling of your chest as you breathe in, out, in and out.
To see the disappearance of daylight, the gradual procession, the layers of light, the stages that the falling sun sets.
To witness it, calm, quiet.

The race of the train over tracks, clickety-clack, clickety-clack.
The shuddering of old window panes.
The softness of the couch as it sinks to embrace your body.
The slight quiver of the tree as it loses its leaves in this cold winter weather.
The stroke of grey, painted over the white, the black and the blue colors race into your eyes.

They mix together to form infinity.

A gentle subsession, an aching progression, as day yields to night.
And a body so full with the wonderful wisdom
of what it means to be alive.