This is the time when the sun
Descends below the horizon—the ground
Is cool, dry, hearty and beautiful with
Thick golden hairs—of all distant things
Is the time of ripeness—the ground I
Know crumbles away, I am swept off my
Feet from the side, scythed, robbed of time
To grow and flourish—the sun is tucked
Away below my eyes.
In an underworld I scan and
Taste the remains of a lost Eden
Enveloped in emerald and cerulean tresses
I fall asleep in a champagne sea.