wild blue

yonder it lies
nestled deep in the darkening horizon
that ultra-blue
thick and fabric
textile

at night it embraces
welcomes any light
makes those that are dull
weary
stale
into clean fresh shimmering
gloss
gossamer strung gems
fabulous photons

who are poor and tattered
while that bloody orb blazes
bathing all in blanket like sheen
drab and dreary glare
"o garish sun"
quite rightly so
for it permits no contest
no matter it would win
any glow not its own is disallowed

but as that heavy down of dusk descends
he has no choices
she cannot but fall, falter, flail
(in truth it is we who change of course)
and ah
as it happens
little lights creep
peep out prettily
to take their places

and thus the vast overhang
canopy of cloth
is embroider-ed
beaded o'er

and sheathes itself
in stars