Thursday, December 31, 2015


Red splashed sun sparks harshly
In that last hour,
As if days were doomed
To dusk forever;
But it’s just a gesture
Of a jester,
Fooling us,
Jocular, and clever.
Then, by morning,
It’s there again so bold
That my eyes can’t scan it
As daylight stirs,
Smudged across
Those murky smears of smog,
Staining, streaking the horizon
With its blurs.
Then, for much of the day,
It hides and seeks,
Playing a game with shadows
And pale light,
It spurns and burns away
The bashful clouds
That must be gone
Before tropical night
Falls to quench
The cranky sky of sunset,
And yet heat lingers
So we can’t forget.

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