by Lorna Smithers
The sun died
I walked to the edge
Of the world to watch it fall.
Upon the solstices it is said
That time stands still.
It’s rays beat the clouds;
Orange eclipsing purple invocations.
Blocks and spires dissolve.
The world’s dark attire is crumbling.
Sun dials crack, every clock tower falls.
The tinkling minute hands mean nothing
On the clinking scrap heap of machinery.
The world breaks down.
The dying sun devours its sightless shadow.