Night Poem II

I can feel it coming,
because the clouds are slowly dying of horizons.

I can feel the light
abandoning its playful hour

and the lovers growing despondent
with each other’s bones,

and the birds that have become
blades of vengeful silence.

I can hear the footsteps of the ocean
prowling the shore like a night watchman;

he is searching the corners of my sadness
for enemies of the dusk.

I know it is coming,
because the sun has fallen on her sword
and bleeds from an enormous waist.

And the earth is a mouth lapping at the purple pools
of her annihilated flame.

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