In the hour before the gloaming
when the gravity well weds the horizon
to silver the grey and gold the mundane
the invisibles are revealed
dust motes caught frolicking
raindrops on the transparent secrets of glass
spider legs dangling from gossamer
insects blinking between the trees
six-legged fairies flitting to and fro
as though caught in a pinball machine
after the prize of a ricocheting mate
so the slow eye sees
as stars when the cold clouds flee
Who sprinkles this twilight magic
that bestows a soul to particles most particular?
perhaps the gift of the numinous and never-seen
to delight the finite with wonder before the dark
or merely an angle of coincidence
born from the revolving green child
What cruel accident or intent
to make alive such multitudes
and then snuff out that golden flame
When the transient unfolds the transcendent
the brief window invites our troubled gaze
for would an ever-rainbow deserve second sight?
the sky be sinned by the moon’s ever-light?
the patience to play and wisdom that wanes
are held in equal measure by the Immortals
while the fleeting are awed by the fleeting
each eclipse to be cherished
every animism celebrated in song
before the day goes quiet