Dusk writes an appalachian epitaph. A gray bird like a poet sings the rain. Sky tears are captured in the window glass. Small glitters paint sadness in miniature.
The light of our landscape is flickering. One breath, I think, will blow it all away. But just before the panes become opaque, You give me good-bye for a keepsake, Friend.
Within the magic of blue margin lines, The human need for peace is satisfied. Your last words are the words I hold most dear. Dusk is no more immortal than ourselves.
