And, when you look south,
past the maples' fading
flames, whose colors burst
and smolder with the sun,
to where encroaching night,
a violet mist, veils the blue
that sparkled through the day,
a ghostly presence moves
behind the fog--broad, white
shoulders draped with strands
of gray. Mere apparition,
better known by day,
when, looming god-like,
to the sky's great depths,
it urges clouds to part,
and later, holding back
the crystal night--vast
power, alchemically transformed
by twilight's indigo--
the ancient ruler of this
wild domain rests not,
nor threatens yet the souls
swimming through dreams
on its effluvial plane.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
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