Saturnine in the midst of an evening.
A bubble, wafer thin, prepared to pop.
A clock run down for mood of the week.
A lace beaten under, untying the knot.

Moisture wrapped loose on the waves rolling in.
A tap starts running, to wash down the sink.
A clear glass of water to bend all the light.
A flame goes out at the end of a splint.

Tears absorbed at the back of the eyes.
A frost cloaked song, gets caught in the throat.
A film coats the heart with the loss of a spark.
A hiker stands still, at the start of a *****.

Embers grow weak, to the black of the ash.
A gulf forms a feature to rest in the view.
A rise of the morning won't bring anew.
That much is true.