when the first leaves turn gold or red
and city sounds are absorbed by
the sighing earth or
dark blue floor of stars
their tip-toes quiet around
an unfinished moon:

this is the grey o’clock of shadows
between today and morrow, duty and rest
first moment of oblivion and
the last conscious thought,
definition and obscurity,
surrender and resistance:

if one could have this space
as the last space in their life


  1. So clear and beautiful! Superb!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. “…grey o’clock of shadows” Wonderful! Aw man! I’m going to use that in my life. It’s just brilliant! I will credit You, of course!!! But I’ll think of that late in the afternoon from now on. So lovely. The whole poem. Thank You, Vera! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  3. This is so beautiful.

    Liked by 1 person

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