While the sun set
Our thoughts got caught
In the sticky thorns
Of the news
And we all remarked
On how terrible it was.
–
And as the sky became redder
And wider and filled
With darting bugs,
Feasting bats upon the wing,
We said it was a travesty.
–
And when the moon,
A slither in the vastness
Of horizons broad as beginnings,
Slipped from behind an effortless cloud,
We continued with our worrying stories.
–
And at last, with but a pale glimmer
At the most western face of the day,
The final moment
When night was not yet night
And day still held sway,
We woke up,
Realised everything was alright
And that life was in fact joyous.
