Under bruising skies of a dying glow,
I watch the shadows slip from earths grip.
My collar unfurled, and fastened zip,
To guard as cooler winds bellow,
The tales of morning last.
Where once bathed in light and heat,
Only heavy darkness remains. A cold fresh sheet,
Littered from dust of an infinite past.
But afters await. Now the pang of day is gone.
And a crooked moon climbs at every spin,
To places yet explored. I must look within,
For dreams, they beckon.
