The furnace of Vulcan’s forge
Glows eminent on the horizon.
Embers light the gulf;
A plume of steamy clouds seem pulled by
Workhorses to the glowing orb that
Pours its brass melt to withdraw the day as
Rosey-waves lift from distant hills.
And that sunset chill
Cooley lifts as the sun sinks
Beneath gold-leafed berry-coloured clouds,
like a draft under an old door.
That cold sunset breeze
That gave me shivers
And sunlit goosebumps.
Through an open window
Cool air came flooding,
And a whole room filled up with coolness,
like a waft of icy feathers.
A room fades
Framing a whale blue chalk sky
Neither yet the sky nor the space for stars.