she rises in the evening,
and the sunset paints her pink.
she shakes off the sleep
that hangs heavily from her eyelids,
and when the orange sky darkens,
she is alive.

the inky blue air shimmers with secrecy.
she smiles for the first time since waking.
how little, and yet how much the dusk hides;
for when the sun surrenders to the moon,
the waking are their truest selves,
set free by the mask of night.