Crepescule Poem by David Floren

Quale of journeys
Beyond any journey.
I feel it in my belly:
The ownership
Sails at dawn.

Its horn
Fawns the grumpy,
Keepers of tight schedules.
“Prepare for boarding! ”
It toots.

Until then,
A gossamer mauve
Creeps in against a shifting
Navy of dusk, a thick armada,
Finely-shaded.

And luminous time
Stretches its leg-arms out
For a spell,
To dispel
The damn ticking.

Not like a molten
Watch on Dali crutches.

Rather,
Draped in its serene recliner.
Gladly embarking.

The shiftless
Bliss of gradual
Darkening.


[9-24-07 Berkeley, CA]