On dusk . Karen Wheeler

11/14/03
A fleshy evening,
The sky fades blue to pink,
The air falls on me
Like a blanket,
But the wind blows
And it batters my skin.

Some birds –
Several –
Fly off in one direction
And I wonder
If I should fly
That way too.
But look –
The pink is gone,
The birds are too,
And only seconds
From when I looked before.
The sky, he is fickle,
As he takes away my dusk
And fills it with night.
Perhaps
I should have followed the birds.

12/13/04
I walked outside.
They said there would be meteors.
Too many to count
They said.
In yellow and green
They said.
The sky would be perfect
They said.

And it was.
But not for meteors.

It was past dusk,
But only just.
And the clouds
Still held some blue.
They moved slowly,
Dancing,
In the throes of death
Before night
Could stomp them out.
The curtains behind them:
Grey,
Smiling,
Warm,
Though the wind knew otherwise.
Still, the clouds danced
Happy to be moving,
Happy to have been.
Then the trees shivered
And I was chilled,
And went inside.

The sky was perfect,
But not for meteors.