The Dust of Night


In the slow, seductive sunset of the world
The sun moves from the bright overhead of noon
Its eye on the horizon.
It licks the trees slowly, as if it has never tasted green before.
It slides orange arms around their trunks, in languorous embrace.
The shadows of the wrens dance beside them, grown now into eagles, long and stately.
It is pink and purple, with wisps of fading blue.
It is still warm, but there’s a chill now.
Then it is dark. And cold.

Everyone is a night creature now.
All eyes dart through the dark,
As the dust under the bed gathers into golem
and crushes your windpipe.

One thought on “The Dust of Night

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