Prompt poem too

(Another prompt from Facebook: "Wishing for night")


It will come at last:
this sweet cessation, this tiny, vagrant death,
this rambling through dim fields of dream.

It will come again.
And end far, far too soon
when light puddles the horizon:

this daily burning, this uncouth clarity,
this louche, foul revenant we fled in sleep:
the soul's eclipse, our fragile benediction.