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.