Would it be enough to rock on a stormless sea with each our separate memories tuned to the state of the sinking sun?
But even the longest day wears to sunset.
So, I said, when does the enchantment start? We were sitting side by side, facing the mountains. “It started when the earth was born.” Her eyes were closed. Her face was golden in the setting sun. “It never stops. It is, always. It’s just here.
Harry looked down and saw deep green mountains and lakes, coppery in the sunset.
I have always loved the many moods of the sky at Rocky Flats. Turquoise and teal in summer, fiery red at sunset, iron gray when snow is on the way. The land rolls in waves of tall prairie grass bowed to the wind, or sprawling mantles of white frosted with a thin sheath of ice in winter.
Until the sun rises in west and sets in the east, until the rivers run dry and the mountains blow in the wind like leaves, only then shall you return to me, my sun and stars
in the end
it is words
someone’s deep blue
eyes. that we have
no defenses against.
I got to bed later than most
People to see the moon in the night sky.
And wake up earlier than most people to watch the Sunrise.
You can’t turn a sunset into a string of grunts without losing something.
Now she’s lit by the warm orange spreading from the horizon as not-quite-day, becomes not-quite-night