© August '10 photo by smck |
afterglow
After sunset – and
before the night -
when red tinged purple
fills the dome of sky,
one can trace the
imperceptible change of light
from the faded golden
promise of sun on high
to the east where the
black creeps in.
But not to signify the
end.
Change it is that draws
our eye from that mystic silhouette,
where all somber ochered
hues have reached blackened fingers
against the grieving
evening – ahh! sad nostalgia is that color, wet.
For night too signifies
the friend
that gave us the diamond
brilliance of black velvet
strewn with baubles of
stars
and then the
moon.
69
written about the tenth
grade while I looked from ‘the sands’ out across Cameron’s
farm toward the North East river at sunset – perhaps 1950, 51. –
and I still like it
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