SOLD

The Fickle Space Between

Fading

Dying,

Embers of twilight

That never cease to shine.

Far gone it is too soon,

The golden glow of fading day

It’s aegis, and it’s boons,

Of sight, and sounds

And great things abound

The smell of applewood and coal-fire

The crisp sight of a perfectly timed joke

The moments that creep along our skin

As games of wit ensue,

And a promise to each other’s will

“We will meet again.”

But until then,

The lights, now down low

And shadow creeps in tow,

A blackness between

Shards of bright,

The darkness betwixt

The stars of night

For rising is the tide of Luna’s light

Sets sight for things, once

Solar in flight,

To let the wonder of all things rest

And rest,

Guarded by the moon

And what lay beyond 

In brandishing it’s silver stare

It stores the sacred sanctity

Of summer and it’s flares

For no gleaming dazzle, or luster, can bear

To exist without the darkness’ own care 

Ethan Garalde, Calgary, 2023