The End Of An Imperfect Day Poem by Bengt O Björklund

Dim definitions of see-through-ness
whirl to the sound of rainbows over cities
in the early hours of getting close.

Indigested ceremonies of division
plunge personal scopes into revision,
talking nonsense by the window.

The closure of flickering loss
wounds the ticking soul
minutes before the clear sky.

Thus the end an imperfect day
sinks below all that is left
of aspirations and hope,
dragging loss behind drawn curtains.

Stoic intentions fold in sleepy growth
before dark dreams approach.
What is gained will pass,
reduced to reverse with fading figures.