You cannot put
a fine point
on the fact
that the night
is pitchblack
very soon
every day

Tonight
my curtain only half drawn
against the coldness of the dark 
there are a dozen butterflies
dancing against the window 
fretting to get in
from the approaching cold

one night soon
they will land 

having lost the foothold
on the perpendicular plane
frosted like sugarflakes

under my window
no longer
fluttering against it

or anything again 

many cold nights
will come
before

another flutter

catches my eye