the sky spills its gold slowly,
a hush falling over rooftops and trees,
like the world is folding itself into a soft sigh.
the light clings a little longer
to the edges of life,
as if unsure about leaving.
i watch it go,
not saying much-
just listening to the quiet
beneath the quiet.
somewhere between the dusk and dark
a weight shifts
just enough to go unnoticed.
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rog's poems 