Walking in the Dark
Late night walks are making more sense
as I realize how little of my life
I am really seeing. Making it home each night
through the black ink of every word of hope
and doom engraved into the emptiness
surrounding me—isn’t it much better
practice than bounding about in daylight
thinking I am understanding everything?
In the dark the actual tree spreads without end,
across time and space, and I begin to sense
that my blindness also travels a route
set in deep earth, exposed to the sky.
Translations from the English 
Whose woods these are, I don’t think I know? Lovely.
Thanks C.
Thoreau has a short essay about walking at night called ‘Night and Moonlight’. Your poem reminded me of it. If you have not read it, it might perhaps be something you enjoy.
Thanks! I will have to wander over to my bookshelf and find that essay…