the sun sets but the actual
flaming orb of gas cannot be seen. Rather
the trees on the valley glow scarlet, as if
in the throes of
autumn in the middle of winter,
but as I step closer, I see
they are masquerades, trying vainly
to recapture their once brilliant hue.

the clouds drift across the sky, pink
like balls of cotton candy. I wonder,
if someone pinched some of the fluffy thin mass apart, what would our
ozone layer peel back to reveal? maybe people scuttling for cover,
desperately trying to recapture
the peace before, as the glass sky shatters and the clouds
fall down around us.