Black Velvet and Pointed Tips

I sit at the door, waiting to catch your flicker— fleeting moments, too much to hold. One moment, twinkling high; the next, hidden in the dark, peering out, folding in, quivering in realms unknown. Don't you dare fall. Hold to what you know is true, for the dark will assume more than its purpose— to be your canvas, your bed of rest, until you ignite anew. For in the quiet, in the weeping of the hour, I look up to find your sparkle, still blazing bright, gloriously treading soft across the black velvet, on pointed tips, dancing free— beauty still to behold.