Rondo: Dying World


Truly unsettling, the light that hovers
at the periphery before it gives itself
to the tent of darkness: burnished
metal, sheen of some god’s afterthought
burning in the distance. And in the first
moments after everything plunges into
its depths, it is as if the world will never
be visible again. We turn to each other, press
close in this cleft among the rocks. We hear
an owl begin to hunt: hear the muffled flap,
thud of a small body canceled on the ground.

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