by Kirk McConnell
A curb- the sounds of cars rushing in the background. Cracks on the black.
Cracks on the white.
Cracks on blue.
A lonely penny – the sound of a distant train tooting it’s horn.
Green trees-and a plane flying by overhead.
The sun will soon set
And all will be dark,
And the mountains are fading as day says goodbye-I feel the wind against my neck.
Pale orange cream sky blends into blue,
as evening approaches it will be a deeper hue-no sirens blaring yet.
Colors I think of when there is light.
All colors will be gone in moments.
Soon it will be night.