Dusk's Glamour
Dusk, the end of day, harbinger of effervescent night
see how dusk slinks to night in shadowed rivulets
running, rivulets of blue black; see how it puddles
outlining the corpse of cypress, puddles faded and fated
for the fated depth of moonless dark fills with siren sounds.
The scratching sound of thorn on glass, the howl of wind
a whispering wind, shroud winding through the forests edge
calling toward the unkempt edge of garden bed
where bedded was the maudlin maid of ending day.
Day, a dusky wench who, yet again, glamours the light,
perfuming light the air with vapors which taunt,
taunt the dim and omnipresent night.
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Contest: Wreath on the Flavor of Dusk
Date: 8/5/12
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