Moon light 25

If a day knows no four and twenty hours
And a week no seven days
When a month suddenly counts a year
And from here to sun no light may shine

When the world stills in dusk
And the moon wallows sick with fear
Around my kind and her own axis
And no cinder sparks and life extinguishes

Then, in that twenty-fifth hour
Wherein I no longer am
My freed year becomes a divine century
And I finally whole


Epilogue.
When the twenty-fifth hour becomes reality
And your night sleeps a black hole in that one day
Mute where nothing is something and something not
And from that not-being shall blossom your golden age.