Like a woman hurrying to her lover

Night comes to the room of the world

And lies, yielding and content

Against the cool round face

Of the moon.




Night is a curious child, wandering

Between earth and sky, creeping

In windows and doors, daubing

The entire neighborhood

With purple paint.


Is an apologetic mother

Cloth in hand

Following after.





From door to door

Night sells

Black bags of peppermint stars

Heaping cones of vanilla moon


His wares are gone

Then shuffles homeward

Jingling the gray coins

Of daybreak.




Night’s brittle song, sliver-thin

Shatters into a billion fragments

Of quiet shadows

At the blaring jazz

Of a morning sun.

  • Frank  Marshall Davis, "Four Glimpses of Night" from Black Moods: Collected Poems, edited by John Edgar Tidwell. Copyright © 2002 by the Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois.  Reprinted by permission of University of Illinois Press.

  • Source: Black Moods: Collected Poems (University of Illinois Press, 2007)

Poet Bio

What People are Saying

"I did not expect to fall in love with poetry. I just expected to recite and be done with it. After just sitting there and analyzing my poems, I realized that the stories told through these few words mean so much. I had to step out of myself and step into the author's shoes, and with that comes great work."
Kyla Rose Bates
2016 LA POL Champion