Fadeout Cycle

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




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