On The Sunset Side

It is late; in the afternoon

The quiet of the morning,

Lost in the day,

Has returned

And the clouds break apart

Welcoming home

Their hero on high

The sycamore is full of light

On the sunset side

Watching rich colours appear

And the sky darken

Once again.

Low horizon light

Illuminates my desk and pen

Where does light come from?

The seeing of a man?

No other creature has eyes

Like a composer on heat

Or the rap artist

Pouring his river of rhyme

Over an adoring crowd

‘In His image’ some say

And who can argue?

Are we abandoned, then,

Like Chinese lanterns

Detached and unmoored?

Or are we portals

For another realm?

Light of the morning

Light of the evening

Fall on me

Let me love the shadows

The dents and hollows

The imperfections

In us all.