Before it falls the red sun
hovers, as though ensnared
in the yellowing brown
bushfire smoke.

Like a forgotten Christmas
bauble it dangles low
in rusting sky,
as if
waiting to be plucked and
boxed neatly in soft tissue.

Paused like a parting
lover,
it hangs,
but no hand comes to take it.
Billowing smoke
engulfs its paling face
from view.
Alone,
it slips beyond the limn.

01/30/2002

Posted on 01/29/2002
Copyright © 2024 Audrey M Scott