The Picture of November's Twilight

 Because nothing slips out of the reach of a poem...

This one is for my sister. 

She called before supper and wondered if the evening captured my attention too

and did I write a poem?

 Dear, sweet sister, often calls if only to ask 'What did you write today?'

I answered her kindred-spirit question tonight with "yes, I stood there soaking it in for a minute and even dared to wish for a moment of Quiet To Write, but then was immediately convicted with 'careful what you wish for' and that no, there is no poem, 

but there is extra guests for supper and Grandson etc. 

and we chatted a bit about why the colorless colours were so captivating tonight

then each returned to our own supper-chores etc.

The sky has been shedding its softness ever since she called...

(this photo was taken the other 'less-lively' evening😉)

The moment passed.

The air, like smoky flannel fell, 

then blue

Then black

And snuffed the images 

of dying day from view

But could not steal 

from wonder’s reel

God’s tender work of art

The picture of 

November’s twilight

Wrapped around the heart

…and so is life.

Its moments rife with heaven’s 

emptied jars

And such

Where touch is quick to cool

 but not its aftermath of stars

That brush the air 

and places where

Only Thought’s Owner sees

The frame filled with 

soft shimmers

Of love’s precious memories

© Janet Martin