Sunset and Dusk
The sky is a slow bruise of amethyst and rose,
the sun, a tired king, bleeds gold across the land,
paint the western fronts of the city by the bay
a million dying lamps before the swarthy rise.
I am a cruise ship returning to its harbor,
while another ship sails filled with the day’s spent wind.
My every footstep sounds more like tiny pebbles,
like being dropped on the quiet of the asphalt
the echo of my journey home is astounding
Streetlights and shy fireflies wait to see who’ll glow first,
start their weak pulse, as if unsure the day is done
My thoughts fading like the lamp carried by my mind,
while reviewing the day's encounters like phantoms.
Each house exhales the scent of a tasty dinner,
a warm, domestic breath into the cooling air.
The moon, a pale coin, is tossed into the worn blue,
and the first star is a pinprick of forgiveness.
My own body knows this liturgy of descent,
the knee-jerk turn of the foot, soft exhale, tale’s rest.
I am not just walking up, I am unspooling,
bit of a loose thread of my former self, reeled back,
into the arresting arms of the spool of night.
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