The sky's aflame

The sky’s aflame,

burnished with evening fire,

before ashen night

rakes the heavens

and steals the embers of colour

with its callous coldness.

Visions turn to dreams

in the unreality

of the shadow-time.

The maybes and the might-have-beens

conspire, in liquid virtualities,

 to confuse and trap

in the storm

behind closed eyelids.

The sky’s aflame,

but there’s a chill

at this crematorium.