The Quiet Hour
When the sun sinks below the horizon and
the earth steeps into the golden tea of dusk
fast, stronger, darker
I get it,
to my lips though I cannot see it.
Then,
I sit quietly with closed eyes,
upturned hands resting on thighs.
Slowly a faint glow illuminates the air,
I smile
watching the nescient light filling
my tea cup until it runneth over.
Previously Published, Spectrum Special Edition: Ten Poets to Watch in 2018
No comments:
Post a Comment