I left at dusk to make my nightly rounds.
First, I cupped the sun in my hands,
Suffocating its boasting radiance to a humble glow.
I painted over the waning gold marble:
Soft dabs along the russet and crimson horizon;
A waxy harvest shrouded by clouds of cotton amaranth
Nested softly in a cornucopian sky;
Followed by caressing brushstrokes of cerulean.
With the disappearing of the glowing peach
I bathed the entire sky in a liquid charcoal;
Shiny, like blood, and elegantly chatoyant.
I wandered a nearby meadow.
I signaled the entrances of insects and critters in a twilight nocturne.
Clicks and chirps resounded in harmony
With cicada’s percussive strokes,
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