Image by Alejandro Piñero Amerio from Pixabay

Dusk

There are flowers on the horizon

The wings of many birds,

The tips of moving mountains,

The tops of sailboats.

There is the veil of night,

Of leaves on heavy trees,

The moon is gliding up,

A homey, silver kite.

There is a story told,

Of kinship with the sea,

When loners have no one,

There’s still somewhere to be.