With strange, faint phalanges it stretches across the sky and lingers in the space between too close and almost arm's reach. The pink patina of summer's solstice eve veils each house and dahlia and bluebird in a sleeping bride's dream. Westerly wind sweeps by, carrying notes of charcoal, jasmine, and damp earth. And somewhere, from an undisclosed topiary, a cricket orchestra warms up its strings as the air becomes cool marble. Seagulls squawk. Sun sinks, a final bow for another brilliant performance. Then, with one, last touch, it turns the world to gold and melts into the moon. Through the dim, streetlamps spit sparks like watermelon seeds to light the way home.
About the Creator
Anna Volk
Poet for life and creator in multiple mediums.
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