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Gone. Another day gone. Its chest-
shredding tragedies or frivolous whims equally
scavenged by dusk. Soon the wind will rest
in the messy trellis of my tree.
But in the west, sudden, the sun’s last blades
slice the dusk & stain the clouds’ vanishing,
so that, for an instant, the whole sky is ablaze
with dying — its own radiant dying —
then twilight dulls it all. I’ll gladly give in
to what it will bring: the good book I’ll return to,
the possum’s wobble in the yard, the moon’s thin
curl as it whisps in & out of the marine layer — it too
eclipsed now by the heavy lids of night.
Copyright 2021 Laure-Anne Bosselaar. First published in Five Points, Vol 20, #3.
Laure-Anne Bosselaar is the author of These Many Rooms (Four Way Books, 2019) and served as Poet Laureate of Santa Barbara until April 2021.