There is a sense of
Abandonment in the air.
Longing eyes picking
Homes in swaying pines
And suntanned fields.
A wordless plea
Flying home
On a Kestrel’s grey wings.
A soul, blinded by its own light
Looking for the stars
in a woolly grey dusk.
And the melancholy hum
Of life deepening into night.
The sun sets in
waves of molten gold
Tracing the quieting sky.
An oratory of crying clouds.
Twilight is like the silence
after a spoken prayer
its wistful longing
lingering on
in the growing shadows
of the oncoming night
Do not lose more twilights
for even in the blue night
there is sometimes
a piece of sun
and perhaps if you dare
to stay awake
you will find
an even brighter light
securely fastened
to your soul
