INTO THE DREAMTIME
Kneeling on the edge of some shameful dream,
The sky lingers on the verge of twilight,
Neither day nor night, but in-between,
As the lulling clouds roll overtop,
Like an ocean inverted above our heads,
That leaves the stars to drown,
In twilight’s speckled spider’s web.
The birds fly backward,
Painting the mountains purple
With their gentle, black wingtips,
While the first lights of the waking sun
Swirl into puddles of orange and red,
And for a moment, Time is forgotten,
As if it had never been.