You stitch the stars with
brittle fingers that tremble
as the night expands.

A seamstress of dusk,
you paint the sky in coral
when the sun descends.

You breathe life where there’s
dark, your children of the night
wake at your sweet hands.

Oh, Mother of Murk,
bend the black in swelling shades-
govern the night lands.

This is one of my first attempts at a haiku quartet. Somehow the last syllable of each stanza ended up in cadence- but maybe that’s just my innate desire to make everything rhyme!