Cycle
Thirteen silver eyes
gaze to murky green skies,
dimly lit by a red sun;
to the thin clouds of blue
with their funny pink hue,
like watercolors, they seem to run.
Thirteen silver eyes
and a few frightened cries
seem to signal the end of the day,
and the red turns to black
in a great blinding flash;
no one bothers with running away.
Thirteen silver eyes
and some soft final sighs
are the sound of a vanishing world,
and in the starlight we see
with the scattered debris
another has already unfurled.