A History of the Night

The night is a shadow, An endless horizon of stories And whispers that linger Where the light dares not go.

The moon is a solitary guide, Plucking stars like flowers From the garden of darkness, And arranging them in poetry.

There’s magic in the void of twilight, Where every color fades To hues of forgotten dreams.

Here, the pulse of the world Feels echoing soft and serene, As if the earth were sighing With the weight of twilight.

• Jorge Luis Borges