Eclipse

This overshadowing,

even though expected,

still thrills. We step outside.

Our slow, sleep-slurred words

falter as the concrete steals the bed-warmth

from near-naked feet.

It takes some seeing, oh but when we do,

the frisson: this otherness, this unfamiliar

rubbed-out red that’s neither blood nor bloom,

brazenness subdued,

blush hued,

amber to ember.

To our left, a light flicked off.

We sense the shape at the window stare

at us staring. The restless earth rolls on,

and all becomes the shadow.

© Marion Adams 2015

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