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.