image from dreamstime.com
poem submitted to "1489" poetry contest, Brian Strand, sponsor, September 1, 2026
The last of the daylight s l i d e s across the riverbank in its own time, not hurried, just moving the way light does when the day is almost done. Light d r i f t s across the water, thinning at the edges, a leftover brightness finding its place without ceremony. Reeds b a r e l y move~ a small shift in the air suggests something passing through~ not a thought exactly, more like the pause before one forms. For a moment, the world holds s t i l l, not perfected or polished, just resting in whatever shape it happened to take today.
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