Blue-Grey Skies,
Dark.
the sun sets
but, did it ever rise?
A Wind Blows, a cold sharp wind
on a warm Fall day.
people are skurrying home
under blue-grey skies
In the distance, behind the Lady
The Sun Shines
a Bright new Day
for them.
For us,
for us here,
another sunset
another ending
the death of a day.
the Cold Winter wind blows
on a warm Fell night
in gotham.

I have become a peaceful day,

and you, the mist of rushing rivers,

you the wild roses beside the apple

orchards, you the red delicious,

the fledgling lepidopterologist

you, the orangetip sara, the lima

the northwestern white pine, you

the bodisatvva seated below.

the pine drawn in new

aquas and purples upon

the page, you the artist’s eye, the

rock climbers and the rock, the slip,

the fall, the stop and go of civilization

the union of it and is

beyond all comprehension, you

the mundane and meaningless,

the cosmology behind the birds

wings. you, the clouds, the teary eyed

clouds cooling with no emotion

but nature you the ancient carvings

of glaciers upon my face, the mirage

of an isolated oasis, the tigerlily,

blushing with contagious freckles

you the prophecy of sunrise,

the revelation of sunset.

I have become a peaceful day,

and  you the infinity within me.