Day's End Poem by Morgan Michaels

Fiery clouds blot the sky
that was summer's
earlier today,

so long ago
you can't rightly say
whose day it is now.

Burnt out, old
stars get replaced.
Constellations shift.

A diaspora of cicadas
keep up a low
jittery tremolo.

Tonight, coming home
from the fair
I felt it, for sure,

cold like the flat
of a knife blade laid
behind my knee: a wind

that galloped the tents
lifted a flag and its duty done,
was gone

then, stepping off a curb
my foot disappeared
in a puddle of darkness.

Clearly, we fall away
like an era.
The new has begun, again.