Sunset flaring
cold fire orange
on the beaver pond.
How fast the glow fades,
blackness bleeding
to the world’s sharp rim.
Hold still, listen for
the murmuring voices of starlight
beneath the night’s immaculate silence
and the tiny pings
more felt than heard
as meteors bearing
indecipherable messages from alien gods
streak the periphery,
the blurry caul
where the you
becomes the
whatever lies beyond.
