Crepuscule

what trees
are these
silhouetted,

against the coming dusk
their shadows rage.

are they the last,
passing
actors
of the play
this day
lost now to memory
sets upon the stage.

Dusk

Friday, four o’clock
and a rich bouquet descends
with a note of dusk

Dusk

evening shadows fingers reaching
clawing at the dusk’s descent
even as the sun glows jewelled
the twilight knows its light is spent
and pulls it down over the hillside
to the west where all gold’s found
there it will rest until the dawning
sends shadows once more to the ground

West

at the garden’s end
the sun goes down forever
we watch it setting.