Sky stretches out on cloud couch when Dusk arrives, he
covers her shift
until Moon returns from the bars,
and shines in whatever state he’s in—
you can tell when he gets lucky, he
looks so full of himself.
Dusk usually shows up at Sky’s door each day
around the same time, briefcase in hand, filed with rich colors.
These days, Dusk arrives
later than he has in past months. Sky wonders what
he adds to his days. Maybe he’s mingling with Dawn again…
The nights when Sky cries, Dusk disappears
when she needs him the most.
But when he comes,
Sky sets her head on her pillow, soft fields of grass,
dips her feet into her Atlantic pool,
and pulls the dark covers over her body.
The earth is cold without her,
the chameleon in the sky.