When the black rider comes with iron fist
between the stones of dark and light
to stop your breath and blind your sight
and take you, bound, into that night:
you are not easy in your rest.
Not easy seeking out the light
and why this dark’s so hard and bright
and nothing left to be confessed:
you give us all your best, or second-best,
whatever you have to stake to fight,
your love, your fear, your need to be at least
someone who does not want to die, just
to please God, or just for spite.
It is not easy that last goodnight.