Evening sky sags in recovery,
hanging a lantern — yellow half-light,
birds recognize the nearing end
of a summer storm.
Still an angry rain kept time,
assaulting nests, branches,
where nervy occupants hung silent
for fear of toppling.
On the other edge of horizon,
a bleary moon ascended in silence
where normally trumpets
would proclaim her nightly reign.
About the author:
Jason Brightwell lives in Baltimore, MD, where he finds himself routinely haunted by one thing or another. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in journals including: Extract(s) Literary, Gravel Magazine, East Coast Literary Review, and The Tower Journal, among others. You can find him online at jasonbrightwell.com