The Sky Withdraws

“The heavens are a lantern, and winter trims the flame.”

Above me the sky gathers its cloak,

clouds knotting thick as wool,

the sun flickering at the edge of the world,

its crown slipping into ash.

✦

Light no longer falls in gold but in splinters,

dusk rushing sooner across the fields;

even the crows lose their color,

their wings inked with shadow,

their voices rough as torn cloth.

✦

The air tastes of iron, bitter on the tongue,

as though storms have brewed in the marrow of the heavens.

Even the stars hesitate,

their lamps dimmed by veils,

their stories half-forgotten.

✦

The sky speaks through silence:

night will reign longer,

and day must learn humility.