lemon-tinctured edge tonight
the wall of sky appends to blue
but up aloft and overhead – I could
expect a bat in flight to mark the
passing of today
it hasn’t happened in my
sight with strident silence yet
to blend reflections left alight
by stark and raw expressions
deftly stultified
to miss this moment means
a death of senses best and only
left to find their stars by patient
guides which strive to pacify
the passing day
© 20 June 2011, I. D. Carswell
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