The winged one wheels to rest and vanishes into the violet sunset. Purple fades to velvet dark, the purity of black splintered and crazed by random stars. The hollow moon rises, not Diana but a soulless shell burning mindlessly as a Japanese lantern. What becomes of the dark when the universe looks to the dawn? It slips into the arms of the eternal horizon everyone assumes Does it drop from apathetic fingers to shatter on the stones of the cosm below? Does it fall forever, air passing in whistlescream as it tumbles through its sister, the void? And does anyone glance behind to watch the fading dark? Or do the eager eyes always turn to the light, the new, the dew-kissed freshness and leave the used-up night to fade quiet alone
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