by Aidan Andrew Dun
Warm caramel zones interspersed
with powder-blues, luminous pinks;
A million eyes inside the brilliance
of the peacock-hour look down.
The whole universe spreads its fan
outward through endless heavens;
Under a silver birch on a hill
the dead and living converse.
A semidarkness of ultra-violet
returns with crepuscular spell;
Suffering’s far away: the friend
translated to the stars somehow
Whispers in the hour of the wolf,
speaks under a half-night sky.
Truth makes beauty voluntarily still:
metallic-blue twilight listens closely.
All terrible distances are apparent
since these are identified again.