The Language of Sunset

The language of sunset describes hieroglyphs of light
which, wisely, the palm fronds ignore. Watched from
a distance on high, through grey aluminum uprights
she walks unaware, metronomed by a creepy thumb.

(mist forgiven is mist forgotten down by the river.

there was that time when a bad thing happened.

the door to the chapel was rusted in a season when even melting could not be forgiven.

maybe in the light green spring a small salvation is born.

maybe under diaphanous blooms he will offer empty words devoid of healing. )

The language of sunset swirls down swirly orange
despite the mistakes of that word. Well, here goes:
what beats on a mapled uke is a homily on a range
strummed from a subtle D-major's humbling tones.