Dusk

When Daylight dips its brush into

A pot of gold and black and blue

And tips the jars of musk and dew

I think that heaven’s river drains

And lends to dusk a glimpse of When

We set aside this Stride and Yen

To see with eyes the Prize of Then

Where now imagination strains

When Daylight lowers a dark cape

To snuff the color from land’s scape

And mute the noise of joys that shape

The Corridors of Looking Back

I think that, though we cannot see

Somewhere a seraph-company

Soft-stills then spills things heavenly

To earth in angel-robes of black

When Daylight fades then disappears

Into the Place of Finished Years

With faces framed in smiles and tears

How easily the heart believes

In Heaven as it bends to touch

The dirt and hurt of hearts and such

Then kind-kisses with stars the Crutch

We lean upon on Bygone’s sheaves

© Janet Martin

(since our internet never works after a certain time of day, I've had to resign my sop(seat of pants) blogging to a different style, like posting dusk poems at dawn etc:)