Dusk
Dusk, when the air is thick, and families turn off their car alarms and step inside, readying themselves for the journey home. The evening hour, hour of police sirens and horns, hour of the gradient sky, mauve into turquoise into aquamarine. Dusk: one pinprick star in a pastel, muted universe, one lonely lamp on an aluminum foil balcony, round and round the sleepy turnabout they go.
posted by Jonathan @ 7/31/2007 09:09:00 p.m.
2 comments
2 Comments:
Jonathan, whether poetic prose or prosaic poetry, I like your writing.
Thanks, OpenJoe! I write this stuff when I am particularly moved by something.
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