Where the night is not yet

Waves so straight
so in formation as to be astonishing.
The flock glides across
them, dancing out nothing
but what can only be
seen as musical notes
playing out a song silent
to the ear, but orchestral
to the eye.

Layered, chasing away the
afternoon in tune, in a
chorus that fades away
to silence as they
pass away from the
capabilities of light.

And now this.
Fading blue and low peach,
ancient to a day.

Water whispers something
to the pebbles, and to the tired wooden
walls that penetrate
its form.
Something about
everything being gathered
and passing. The relief
that comes with this.
The freshness also.

The temperature now
descends; a routine
that gives confidence
and a sense of safety.
The cold is not
opressive, and here, staring
out at this music, it
is normal to want to be where the
night is not yet than to be
between the steps and the shadows.

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