after the wind
the river returns
to what silk must look like
rippling on a light breeze
the air, pensive and warm
a light rains springs up, leaves
unable to wash away
the sunset
Tag Archives: sunset
wait didn’t you order one with coffee liqueur…
It’s one of those perfect nights the kind
some high-end tourist drinkery would
try and recreate in an overpriced cocktail —
one of those scimitar moons over perfect
layered sunset colors the railroad bridge all
back lit some holiday play scenery cut out
the sort of thing from an old movie. No
not too too hot one of those end of August
summer nights you remember
as all of them like those winters as a kid
when snow days were just perfect there is
no sunset so perfect no breeze so breezy
and the river is just picturesquely choppy
and then the moment changes and then
it becomes a memory in more brilliant colors
This
A bit of a nice break from the heat, this. A few days break. Not quite Fall’s first kiss, but a bit of a tease. These moments. The sunset over Portland, bits of brilliant light crackling out from behind watercolor clouds. I collect these moments the way I used to collect baseball cards and matchbox cars as a child. True, there are other collections. Rocks. Books. But these moments have more staying power. Not because memory is an infallible thing. Not because I take pictures to try and capture each moment. But because these moments exist in memory, like bugs preserved in amber, whether I retain the context or not. Even the best of memories fade. What does not fade is this moment, this setting sun, the hawk that flew over earlier, a train whistle calling from the 14th Street bridge, that crackling light fading the way a bonfire fades, only to become the ember of a fire as of yet unborn. This.