East

From the east, a darkness tiptoes in;
creeping like the bedazzled cruise ship 
from one end of that hazy horizon to the other;
the thuds of cricket bats awaken blackbirds - 
they scatter through the leaves escaping the balls.

That sky:
its rich tiramisu layers of orange and fleeting pink, 
of clouds rocking firmly with hope at the core, ready
to burst into teardrops of longing - 

the Atlantic brushes on the lawn, on the baked asphalt,
sticks to the walls of my room like prayer - 

too long, too long, since my last sunset.