So you say I'm flighty,
So are birds.
Right here, everything is happening!
Where the ribbon edge of a dark storm glows,
As it licks the sharp silhouette of mountains.
Heavy gray lids close down slowly over a white gold eye,
Flooding the valley with the day’s final light.
More than enough for us to take one last gaze,
Just before the stroke of twilight.
And now,
Where is the next place to be?
It is no longer here.
The birds knew long before I,
It was time to move on.
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About Me
- Millisecond Hunt
- poetry and philosophy, short stories here and there, photography, occasional beadworks, and drawings too
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