In the Dark

The sunset clouds are pinks and greys in tattered strips, in rips and frays, in feathered flight at end of days, in summer skies that fill my gaze. And in the pines beside the sea a hundred birds talk endlessly and shooshing waves lap hungrily as we eat fish and chips for tea. Before the day turned into night the pinks were burned by dying light. The birds were still, the moon was slight when day had gone and it was night. And then my eyes could hardly see the scenery in front of me.