when the sun slips down the trees
and flings her orange robe on the walls
in a final attempt at glory
when the streetlights wake
and children run screaming after fireflies
then i hear her calling
black and white eyes urging
longing to sing my soul.
in that room with whispering shadows
linen moving softly on the windows
i pour out my dreams to the silence
i set her echos flying
i sing the ancient rhythms of being
of dark waters and silent roots drinking
of breathing and secrets and
of delicate things dying.
the sun in her final throes
weeps fading hot tears
to hear what short and
passionate lives we dance here
and wheels through the endless sky
grieving for days never siezed.
