rinsing the memories of scars and communiques from stars and a cool slice of watermelon

the vanished afternoons that leave no traces
a little rinsing of scars
or at least the memory of them

dusk hovers, feinting,
preparing to plunge the knife into the day
the day bleeds out darkness
and then it’s clear
that death is not the end
only the transforming of sun into starlight

or the local electric version
that competes with the dying suns
sending out desperate communiques
~ here is the last of our light
carry on and use it ~
we turn on the streetlights
for our expansion of light
and the message is deflected past us

our nightly enlightenment has a different cast
we dance to the music of our own spheres
also trapezoids, cones and watermelons
here – enjoy a slice in the
steamy afternoon that anticipates
its own wilting demise