Twilight Poem by Thomas Hooker

There were a few last words
and he was gone, perfectly
free from the inside,
a rhythm finally still,
quiet in repose, only
scarlet left in twilight,
playing with fire,

no tears today,
passing patiently
framed by the window,
falling fast as any time
tempting fate again
to capture a
moment free,

lost, now found,
a bond with all living
things, past and present,
free to leave it all
behind a vanquished
sun, hidden by the rain
of a summer storm.