Echoes and fog

What do you know of night?

you drank it many times over,

and you tasted its dark light.


I have some creatures 

of red parfumes as blood.

Some men full of useless pride.


The purest born of death,

there, far, alone in space

is waiting a sign sublime.


Days devoured each other,

long ago. Only silence survived,

only echoes and fog.


Covered of velvet nocturne,

they are, they are to be

an infinity dark skin.


What do you know of night?


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