The setting sun
like a stop light on the horizon
pausing to paint the cloudless canvas
dome of this dimming Cathedral,
where instead we bustle in boxes
and sleep in our motor exhaust
The twilight interrupted
by an airplane, tiny as a gnat
across the wet paint, streaking
a sliver of light in its wake,
a pen knife unsealing the sky
like an open letter, reading
The alarming message of morning:
"Not another night shall pass -
the Day has come like a thief"
