What it’s like to linger in an eclipse

I took a picture of the sunset yesterday, and
it looked like poetry. That wasn’t my first
thought, though. I was tired.
The days are bleeding together, much like
the natural gradient of verdigris to amber
-the day turning to night when it grows cold.

I think I found you there, somewhere
in the middle of it all. You always seem to rise
when I need you most. When I’m searching
for a spark to ignite the darkness, you
appear with matches, strike them on the space

that inevitably exists between us. I am warm.
I am still tired, and the hues are fading
to blackness. You fear the viridian sky
will consume us, and the ocean waves
will cease their greeting to the shore. Or

is that my own scared bones rattling
in new wind? Did I mention I was tired?
A mother sings her lullabies, and I look
up to your glistening craters; your
incandescent embrace surrounds me,

and I find myself dancing in you.

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