Kingdom of the Naked Night

We all know about the scandalous secrets
the night keeps under a table of shadow.
We all know about the white plate moon
and the sumptuous, spectral feast for
mercurial demons.
We all know about the foreboding movement
of nocturnal, venetian eyes.
We all know about the ultrasonic sonnets of
crickets.
We all know about the dervishes of the crepuscular
world, and the caravans of memory riding over slow,
undulating waves in forgotten rivers.
We all know about the flickering streetlights,
the roaming felines, and the croaking frogs.
We all know about the twilight song that restores
dignity to slumbering bodies of snoring flesh.
We all know about the kingdom of the naked night,
the paradise made of black battlements,
the topographical leviathan made up of dark forests,
myths, meadows, and brooding mountains.
Or do we?