Toying with the Sun

by Ethan Strathdee


She tries to awe the evening sun.
Tossing her uncaring glances
Against its molten gaze � and draws the light of its stare
After her, in a liquid puddle on the pavings.

Leaving another shadowed in the sunless dark.
She huddles against the chill stone.
And drinks in the cold metal
Of never-warmed air, its taste
Like old blood or ground glass.

She looks for warmth in cold,
For light in shadow, to stir
The sluggish trickle in her veins.
As her dried eyes swivel in sunken sockets
Following the sun�s gaze.

Then the sun�s focus hardens and
Crackles into pale grasping fire.
Its hand clutches the one it watched and she dances,
An epileptic puppeteer�s plaything � and is gone
Leaving just a stain of char on the pavings
And warm ash, drifting in the falling night.

The other stands in the twilight breeze
Stretches in the silvering light
And thanks the silent dark.


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