Cirrus clouds no longer drift
into my sunset sky.
The infinitesimally grey
resonates the echo
of my longings.

I miss the sight
of ice crystal wisps
Streaking in the sky.
Broken hearts,
vanished colours.

The Evening Star waits
behind a curtain of grey haze.
assured that her time will soon come,
sinks without shining
a little late every evening.

The canvas of the sky is blank
and I shan't rest for long.
I ought to rise and paint it back
orange, strawberry and yellow,
against the soothing afterglow.