Moon Of Twilight Poem by Denis Mair

(in response to Chaled Res' painting 'Purple Moon of Love')
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All other colors have had their say...

faded by seasons and whitened by memory of much sunlight...

Then twilight comes, making the air velvety...

turning our surroundings into an abstract composition...

even a nondescript view holds the eye with indefinite depths...

glinting windows set off the twilight hour well...

letting light through to different degrees as night nears...

The recuperating body wraps slow moments around itself like a placenta...

to re-enter its prenatal trance and let its tissues re-knit...

to feel itself slipping down a Meander of time...

only at this hour does a color open up to become a river.