Word Grace

All day ceremonies of dark's brilliance Led in by outstretched curtains welcoming, An appearance for my time's bleary dusk. The firmament from the red gloom nearing, Of sun's affection for the moon; wrestling. My limbs tumbling down from frosted heights, The sky is closest when I shut my eyes. ------ Where the dying shadows will frame or fade, Comes night; chimes bristle; cicadas like fire. As the breaking noon mists are stayed away— The dreams of leaves in sleep growing louder Whisper low in the black glossy hours— Frosted limbs tumbling from a new height; I still succumb to her prayers in the night.