God of Shadow

Without a sound
a woodpecker's hole
is filled by the night.

The evening's cold light on my window
has minutes to live.

In the pond
out back
fish swimming in the sky
snap at a swollen sun
reflected on water,
tasting nothing.
like the night.

This god of shadow,
quit, divorced from day
accepts sacrifice
from each death of an Edison toy,
each pinch of a heated wick.

In final homage
eyes closing
surrender awarness

for a spread of nothing
that elsewhere
fish are snapping.