because it’s night

beginning of an era

The sky was dying
sinking like a feather,
crucified by messy needlework,
pinprick punctures holding weak wisps of threads,
shivering like gossamer and
decaying, seeping into the ground.

toast

The sun melts like butter
to be absorbed
by the darkest of rye
the knife sweeps the sky
on an airy crumb.