dusk gathers her silent skirts

 younger me revelled in wordplay

metaphors compounded, similes shattered

a poor grasp of language as a breastplate

upon which rhyming schemes battled.

these days i watch the earth turn willingly

away from light, imperceptible movement

 from this point of view, cold front chilling, see

flamingo glow in baby blue an instagram groove, meant

to tilt the  air, the tilt is there in photon bounce. 

time for some music, time for clones of drones

with no headlights, braking within half an ounce

of the pale cloud cover to announce on all the phones

come on it's time to hurry home, it's time to hurry home.