afternoon light changing in waves
tidal pool of hours
filling and unfilling
unfilling as emptying
but time does not fill or empty
there is always a reckoning
of dusk
then twilight
then owl call
then darkest night
when the black moon pulls hours
in her tides
and unfills the day
dusk saunters up the lane
whistling for his dog
and filling his pipe
leaning against the fence post,
he squints into the setting sun
and waits for twilight to arrive
wrapped in a mantle of early evening stars,
she skips down the lane
her steps light and lovely
tipping his hat,
dusk climbs the western ridge
trailing shadow
and wisps of smoke
as twilight fills the darkling sky
with the smiling crescent moon
and the scent of sweet honeysuckle
re: dusk
lets watch the birds
as they swirl in the darkening air
sinuous, spiraling, undulating,
arabesque (from Italian for the Arabic style)
re: twilight
mists rise
from the bowl of the sky
as night enfolds its light
incorporating the bright sun
into moonshine’s glimmer
re: midnight
bells should peal
tolling the moments between one day
and the next
but loon song is the only crier
all is well, all is well
Plaiting her hair
with honeysuckle and sweet grass,
under her breath,
she hums dusk’s lullabies
to the moon and stars.
The worlds edges slowly soften
as the night’s perfume rises
scented with cedar
and evening mists.
Twilight gathers herself,
wrapping the skys shoulders
in her second best shawl
filled with stars.
dusk wandered off into the spring woods,
hiding in sooty shadows of pale sycamore trees,
waiting for twilight to find him
and night to fall.
One by one,
the evening stars ignite,
torched by dusk’s retreat
into twilight.
The celestial lamplighter whistles,
sweet and low,
his lullabies to the evening stars
as he makes his way across the night’s sky.
Sweet and low,
he croons his twilight tune
as the stars hover,
ever closer,
to listen.
Come, take my hand,
we will race the stars
to the ridgetop
and sing his lullabies
to the moon,
sweet and low.
glimmering twilight lingers
until silvered moonlight confirms
the nights reservation
from the shadowed western ridge,
fingers of vermillion and aubergine
reach into the sapphire twilight
day’s dying sun
longing to hold the golden moment
for a last glance
last touch
last song
when suddenly,
from the darkling sky
radiant stars
erupt in dusky melodies
and indigo night begins
thecourseofourseasons 