Before the Gloaming

by Lee Beavington

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