After the Sun Has Gone

There is magic in twilight, comfort maybe, now.
It seems there always was. Long ago, on the edge
Of the Oregon dunes, in a circle of travelers stopped
For the night at a fire, the surf and someone's
Guitar serving peace through the smoke. Nobody
Would speak. The starkness of stars, early on,
Above mountains too high for forests, the air
Turning cold. Even here, after so long, the trees
Growing lengthening shadows across the swaying
Corn, and silence, serenity, rest before sleeping.
The world transformed from tool to treasure by
Magic, by twilight again.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 28 times
Written on 2011-06-29 at 00:04

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