The sun was setting, and
I knew it meant the end.
No way this unblemished light
could remain, and fight
the shadows on a
salt-bare shoreline, as a
final tide rolled out.
I seemed to sense a moisture
in the air, as of tears, as
of sorrow. This one, infinitesimal
moment, a creation in its own,
charmed, somehow, and I knew it
would never be recaptured.
The world reduced to its
most miniature elements,
like the mountains will one day
become a handful
of sea-smooth pebbles:
after the soaring, only the
purest parts remain. There was
a milky whiteness to the sand,
a blinding, radiant brilliance on
the final night of red sunset,
truest possible rendering of life:
always an ending,
always a beginning,
always and ever a falling of light.
I clutched it to my breast,
one last glorious hope on the
last night, last sun falling
into a gem-red sea. I would
carry this ending day into Eternity,
short and abandoned as it might
be, a bastion of joy against
sadness, of unmitigated
hope against despair.
I will hold it evermore
safe, shattering, vulnerable
in my embrace. I will
sail on the ending tide of
the ending setting sun.
Darkness is ever but a striving toward light.