Poem: Edge

 

Edge

 

smidgeons of sunset,

the day’s canopied dregs,

leach through the sigh-breeze

of cat’s-cradle boughs,

their epitaph crowned

by the faintest first strokes

of a night heron.

 

soon

 

not an ember

of adumbral pink tints the west,

nothing but the hover of Hesperus,

regal and impervious,

uncatchable,

above the abyssal crook

of the lean boughs.

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4/12 ... removed a word

4/11 ... changed a prep, "abyssal" replaces "abysmal"