O Dusk!

O swelling prelude to night!

Spun o’er an orchestra of wild maples

Coins of dim sunlight

Dancing on the river banks

How the stars jut left and right from the spacious purple and umber

Blanketing the sky;

Stretching o’er the corners of the horizon

Actuating together in a sweeping aria

Trading fluorescent migraines

For crushed corn husks

And the drowsy grass that flinches heavenward



Once they were happy 

Drowsy and ticklish,

And whimsical

But the grass falls sharp and spiteful

And venomous

And Night arrives

Without courtesy

Frail and weak



 A prophet

Draped in freezing, shadowed robes

Its veil sewn by the star soaked sky

Their wings spread to the cold margins of the Earth

Quivering and palpitating like its bruised heart

Almost as violet as dusk might have been

He mutters empurpled fragments through clenched teeth

"O blistering suns,

pulchritudinous stars,

once they spake truths

and canonized me

and welcomed me into their amorous arms

rapturous

now they hiss at me

they expectorate on my robes

O Giver Of Life

what is to come?

I am not at fault