The Last Light Before Descent
where the horizon leans away
The sun bows low—
a weight of fire
sliding toward the sea.
Gold bleeds
into the edge of night,
final gift
before the swallow of dark.
Stone holds me steady.
The tide inhales.
I feel it—
the world shifting,
the road narrowing.
Perhaps this is the moment—
to press my name
into the stars,
to let the constellations
carry what I cannot hold.
Already,
the horizon tilts forward.
Already,
the brake lets go.
About the Creator
Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales
I love to write. I have a deep love for words and language; a budding philologist (a late bloomer according to my father). I have been fascinated with the construction of sentences and how meaning is derived from the order of words.
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