The Rising Sun - March 16, 2021

she slithers down the mountain

spreading her mouth wide inhaling

the glistening dew of shadows exhaling

a breath of pink warming to molten red

I dress to meet her

this lady that never waits

but my right, left and U-turns

slow my way out the door

there is no meaning to this greeting

but I’m late today

she has already struck the match

and burned to ash

the closed book of night