implications of a midmorning sunset

Riley Lopez

violets are alone, 

though they grow in clusters,

unbidden in meadows, 

unmatched in their loveliness.

loosely, but surely, the breeze 

tugs them westward.

the morning warmth recedes, 

calling on the evening much too soon,

leaving dew,

draining color, 

stitching mournful quilts of shade.

this premature and tender darkness is a prayer

spoken by someone who’s had you on his mind.

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