Wonders, Nightly Wanderer

Wonders, nightly wanderer, wonders are your bread.
Wonders, stowed away in dark pockets, soft and crusty, comforting hands in secret touch.
Wonders you live on, eating the bread of poetry, muttering slices of the world, muffled and distorted around crumbs of darkness.

Wonders, nightly wanderer, your mantle of words, you blanket of sorrow.
Wonders you breathe and in wonder you stare. The darkness murmurs in warm pages of old tales, its eyes closed, never staring back at you, yet piercing your very soul and engraving nightly thoughts of wonder unto it in lines of silent fire.