The sun is going down
with the hint of Florentine shadings
a cream and orange light
fading in the autumnal mist.
A chill sets in
causing gooseflesh on her thighs
the lover lets out a sigh
while contemplating the evening.
Life is constantly changing
enveloped in the echo of a roar
from the sleepwalker’s waking
shaking off the dust
of that long traveled road.
Feeling just how empty the space
between one and two really is.
There’s much less distance to fall
from a park bench
than there is from a penthouse.
Perhaps that is what
all the ruckus is about?
The loneliness of cold in the winter
and the darkness of night
becomes more extreme at the edges.
Eventually that warm embrace
comes to an end
as the sun retreats to the mountains
as light begins to fade
and boots can be heard marching.
On which side of the line do you stand?
Will you be the shield
for the approaching blow,
or sipping champagne in the moonlight?
Under which tent do you sit
when they clear the field for battle,
declaring health and safety
while swinging a baton?
Which side of sunset do you stand on?
Are you shivering defeated
in the diminishing light,
or rising in glory,
basking in the warmth
of a new morning?
What will you tell
when they ask
of your place in history?
Oh, let that be our proudest moment.