Falling Eve

The air, now crisp and thin, like old lace

frames the calming sunsets

which are a dichotomy of torrid fire, 

a slow moving sentinal

repeating the habit of farewell

Air that carries a type of chill

easily blocked by a silk scarf

yet still able to blow memories

into the listening ear

of a familiar Song of adieu.

For just this vitreous moment

the silence is quantum

speaking of an eternity

of rhythmic forordination 

that is our destiny while we are here