As Crepuscule Closes In

Some faint zephyr curls the tip of her hair.

Shoulder length.

The lapping of edge water murmuring.

Inveigling liquid whispers heralding dusk

—some primal tongue for ancient ears—

as myriad

gold flints

—perceived in a wince—

dance atop

aquatic undulations.

Leaves now sing the dirge of the descending day.

Framed in Spanish moss,

a vermillion skyline yawning.

Harbinger soon some phase of moon,

amphibious crooning abounds.

Aeonian nature’s colloquy.

Conference of wind and fire and rain and earth knowing no end.

A mere breath, a contribution.

A hand-sized perch in her fist.

Even as one life wiggles away, she sees.

Matrimony of time and space

—horizon ever-bound—

Lasting Overtures Vastly Evolving.

She holds the handle, blank to the sky, guides giving line ascent.

Tip.

Fall

—with angular ease.

Her eyes gaze up to me.

Curious, dilated, free.

A palm on the hips, a parting of the lips: 

“Dahhy, juss whon mohr casss—Pwease?”