With sun already flaring behind
furnace doors ridges
of cloud turn scarlet, reddened
by glow cut through
dusk's entrance to slice fine lines
into porcelain sea.
With portent of ebony so deeply
embedded in darkening
dome lie unburnt crimson coals
settling on evening.
With handsome day vanquished
in an eye's blink I see
not one last glimmer in twilight's
present foreboding, for
night proposes clapping in cuffs
the near dying sun
and Ol' Sol must yield to his cell.
Seagulls reluctantly whirl
with haphazard simitared custom
as dark gulps with intent
to blanket in murk birds' descent
then frowning day, sunk
sulkily sudden, I wending home
see rising a milky-white
moonbeam sending pale kisses to
light first star and I smile.
With the next dawn sides will roll
out the changes once more.