Night,
The twelve spirits of the earth say
That you didn't cry on the day they birthed you
In their home you roamed in the protuberances of the brilliant stars.

They say you walked secretly
And you melted into the pale plants which appeared before your gaze.

Night,
The woman who gave birth to you says that the clouds
Arranged themselves in your glory just for the lament
And humans complain to you that they have had a terrifying dream.

Night, it seems to me that you undulate, pitted with the little eyes of the cherubs who shine continually.
I think you are a Nocturnal like the one I have in the depths of my being.