by John Grey
An ink-stained sky
inspires the hooting of owls,
the summoning of bats.
Earth dissolves,
its golden edges tightened
into the furrowed onyx of age.
Willows whisper in half-light,
stirred by the quiet impact
of brilliance and gloom.
Color is a tide in full ebb,
its retreat wind-wrung,
adorned in lengthening shadow-play,
each moment flickering between
continued presence – a glint –
and footsteps lost.
The sun’s last gesture
is to cast scenes into silhouettes.
Moonlight trespasses.
Silver threads the dark.
Details folds into velvet depths,
past the threshold of gray,
where a pulse beats like starlight
trapped in a pool of night.
© 2026 John Grey All rights reserved.
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