January 5 PM: Central Time

Between the worlds
of daylight and dusk
there is a sudden stop
a dot of time
when Hope
tenderly tending the fluid silver light
pulls herself up short
to ask:

Is it too late?
Am I dying with the fading sun?

The question shivers my soul.

Brilliant disk drops
pearly yellow
pink
red-rimmed
behind the darkening shadows of woods.

My fearful heart reaches toward the horizon
declares itself in a leap of Faith
surrenders to the clarity of winter night
and moonrise.