Waiting

I stand here on the frayed edge of the long day, the memory of the journey under the cobalt sky, gleaming with the shine of the unbroken dreams, flies on the clumps of the fleeting cotton cloud and on the wings of the soaring blurred birds, sinks with the setting sun like the wrecked ship in the infinite hollow of the hazy twilight horizon, coloring the worn out fringe of my residual time before the portals of the day closes behind me and I step on the threshold of the sprawling night, sprouting as it descends strings of sparkling stars around the mystique halo of the silvery moon on the glazed visage of the measureless inky sky. Covered with the film of stardust sheen, wrapped in the mist of moonbeam shimmer I reach the ordained river I have to cross and go to my final destination on the other side. I stand here on its broken bank in the dark, waiting for the solitary boatman to come. October 8, 2018 For Brian Strand's contest All Yours (May 14)