Twilight Impressions

The red-lipped kiss of the departed sun

Hangs in liquid hues over the horizon;

A haze of color shoots far into the sky-arch.

A procession of scuds, transfused with purple,

Race playfully across the imponderable blue.

The lake puts on a silver gown,

Powders her hair,

And dances to the beat of a west-wind.

A skylark writes and rewrites her secret wishes

On the descending dome of heaven

Which only the silence answers and understands.