Photo by Geneva Adele Morse
One November Sunset
As day surrenders its hold on men
I look thoughtlessly to the west
Expecting the greys and dark blues of yesterday
But in your pleasure, you offer more
Dazzling pink, of a hue not yet named by man
Blue and orange, facing one another defiantly, giving no ground
Clouds halt their migration to bask, reflect, and imbibe the spectrum
Each shimmering line like a knife’s edge
Serrated and sharp, they cut their place in the canopy
Tinder for the burning sky
And below, creatures and the works of men glow with lesser light
Like the face of Moses coming down the mountain
Carrying faint glimpses of the Glory of God
