Between Dawn and Dusk
A poem
A poem
At dawn, the hesitant sun casts shy glimmers,
blushing as it unveils its nascent light.
Rose-tinted fingers reach tentatively across the landscape,
feeling their way through fog’s diaphanous veil.
The world holds its breath, suspended in half-light.
The not-yet-born day awaits its baptismal illumination,
earth expectant in liminal luminosity.
At dusk, the retiring light surrenders itself gracefully
to the gathering indigo shroud.
The horizon ignites briefly with the sun’s valediction,
bravura swathes of orange farewell.
Shadows lengthen, the firm edges of day dissolving.
Familiar forms become fluid
as chiaroscuro caresses the land’s contours,
crafting ambiguity, space for imagination.
At sunrise and sunset, certainty falters.
Daybreak and gloaming are spaces between,
neither here nor there.
In interstices, insight blossoms.
We inhabit the nexus of awakening and dreaming.
Each new dawn, each dying light, holds small epiphanies,
whispered glimpses easily missed.
In sunrise and sunset, truth often slips past perception’s gates.
But for those listening, revelations echo in the half-light.