The Things Of The Night

Once when I was young
and afoot in an unknown city
and was refused lodgings
in an abandoned factory
and had nowhere to turn
I thought I understood
the things of the night.
But, no, I did not.

And, then again, one long ago year
I crept dangling from my fingertips
along a bridge to nowhere
I thought I might at last know
the things of the night.
But I did not.

It wasn’t until the years passed me by
and I found myself graybearded and alone,
here with my books and my black cat,
that I think I might at last
understand those things of the night.
I know them well now, you see.
Just me, my cat and the night.
What more a man might need I do not know.