Elizabeth Riseden
In this time of darkness
I walk into evening’s light.
The sky’s surface glows violet
as spring’s garden edge.
No cloud,
no breeze disturbs the royal aura
Pale gold glow baptizes sage-strewn hills
and high above the crescent moon---
pale perfection, pearlescence---
points to Venus and Jupiter,
cosmic magician’s fleeting visitation.
So transitory are human tears.
