Twisted against the sky
Like elderly arthritic fingers
Black trees bend, saluting the horizon.
Marshmallow clouds slide across milky blue
Like rain against glass.
As the delicate blind of dusk is lowered bit by bit,
I view the sunset
Swirling patterns of colour form
Like cream in coffee.
Creatures of the daylight underworld stir,
Rising from sleepy tunnels
To blink, and sniff the air.
Then, as though a switch has been flicked
The world is illuminated by thousands of tiny beacons,
Twinkling and glittering like a tree at Christmas.
The moon, a silver saucer, watchman\'s lantern.
All that keeps me from this nightly paradise,
Is a warm fire and a pane of glass.