Twilight paints persimmon
onto cold winter trees
just before the dusky night beckons
them into a dreamless sleep

a subdued canvas
enlivened with vivid hues
resuscitates dead branches
and they sway to its melodious tune

until every faint ray scatters
as darkness shrouds the sky
civil twilight attempts to turn back time
and failed to convince it not to fly

the drifting sun cast its final shadows
albeit tempted he won’t be persuaded
so the moon silently gathers her stars
to shimmer where twilight has faded

undulating in the night’s breeze
wrapped in the crispness of its linen
the cold winter trees sleep
waiting for dawn to paint them crimson

forgetting to notice
the freshness of rain on his skin.
a hug.
the heat of a coffee cup on his raw palm.
a smile given by a stranger.
the air.
a set of loving lips that wrestle his.

a man on a ledge
neglects simple pleasures
and looks down at the asphalt.

I know a Muse who whispers in the dark
She comes near in My sleep
She puts visions in My head
I hear words crystal and deep

Pushing Me on to Write with desire
Putting my emotions for all to see
She warms my heart with such heat
If She did more I would catch fire

Such beauty she has inside her
Smiles like a Candle on a dark winters night
Dances with Spirits that are like Gossamer
Moving to a Rhythm that none can hear

I wish I could touch My sweet muse
So I could whisper my wishes for her
To hold her hand gentle and kind
If I dream of her will I lose My mind