Monday, June 29, 2015

Between Time

The fireflies ascend
like divers in the dusk.
They breach the surface of
the evening, tip dark's husk
to spill seed-shadows sharp
as angled stars. Time crawls
through some uncertain depth.
The twilight lifts. Night falls.

2 comments:

  1. An excellence! This is at least the second poem you've written in which you describe stars as "sharp" (am recalling "Landscaping at Night"); I cherish both poems.

    And yes, I checked your scansion--perfect trimeter!

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