The Edge of Dusk

The sun dips below the jagged ridge, Bleeding amber into the bruised violet sky, While shadows lengthen like slow-stretching cats Across the cooling stone of the courtyard.

A solitary hawk circles in the fading light, Riding the last thermal currents upward, Its wings a dark parenthesis against the glow, Silent observer of the earth's quiet turning.

Below, the river darkens to obsidian glass, Reflecting nothing but the rising silver sliver Of a moon that waits its solemn turn, As the world holds its breath before the dark.