Aurora Borealis
Her aqua skirt flows in the sky,
like curtains of the Gods they play;
a Monet brushstroke low to high
- like life itself they go away.
But for now they dodge and weave
as in a phosphorescent pool,
a flirting dance before they leave,
behind a veil of colored tulle.
Behind the veil are sapphire eyes;
behind the skirt, there lies the night.
The curtains are a brief disguise;
seductive show of pure delight.
Now deeper to the heavens drawn,
within the night, before it's gone.
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