Dusk
A mousy light filters a tracery of sunset,
dappled beams succumb to gloaming.
Evening stretches moments
for the rescue of wreckages,
to calm the upheavals of disheveled hours.
Dusk softly pronounces its adieus,
carries the bruised upon ebbing tides
as children, they are brought out
from burning houses.
Upon a twilight cradle
eventide glides each baffled breath
along a dwindling shore,
a Moses basket
that dreams us unto dawn.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2021
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