The sun sets all ways in the west as the
shadows grow indigo follows the red
as darkness scratches around the garden,
the lilacs close, the calallilies led
to scent. You sit upon the lawn, wonder
why the clover still stays still, warm and sweet
but underneath the dew whispers,
the petals of the angel’s trumpet sweet
against a crescent rising.
You wait upon the evening star.
An owl hoots, his feathers silent.
A cricket chirps from here to far.
You breathe your wish in one long sigh
to know that in east the sun runs nigh.