Sunday, November 1, 2020

The end of daylight savings

It’s Sunday, and the sky is glowing 
Pink again; doesn't the sun realize 
it isn't time? According to the automatic 
clock in my computer (not the one in my kitchen, 
which apparently got ahead of itself, 
somehow, in the night) it's only 6 am. 
The moon knows -- she’s still hanging in the trees, 
waiting for the branches to lower her to the 
sea but they're confused: it's hard to pick her out 
when the sky's so light, so early, 
and what if they forget and leave her hanging there,
resting in the eagle's nest, vulnerable to his claws 
should he return and find her there, cluttering 
his space -- oh, wait, I see her slide into the sea, 
all pink with effort to escape and yet still fading, 
overpowered by the dawn...

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