Night conjures
a curious amnesia.
Darkness seems
permanent
as if the sun
was but a dream.
While winter endures
with its four o’clock sunsets
and hovering, blurry gray
I cannot recall
the blue cathedrals of light
or golden shards of evening,
just as summer
forgets its dark twin’s shroud.
Yet they are the same lady
with two faces
who turns
as we dance
in the sky.
© S. Rinderle, January 2025
Image (c) Darcy O’Quinn
