The Enclosing Darkness

The voice speaks, says
its piece, then ceases like
the snuff of a match, the flick
of a light switch, the suddenness,
the finality, the enclosing darkness

and we are left with the cup
of our regrets and the formless
thoughts of the appointments
not kept, of the conversations cut
short, of the emotions never expressed.

Perhaps this is the blanket with which
we cover ourselves in the long night
of our despair, perhaps this is our only
defense when we do realize

that against the ravaged winds of this world
how finite and fragile we truly are,
and that perhaps when the time comes

we will be next.