The deeping twilight silence heard
In the whispers of a half dreamed word,
With new moon in a dreamless sleep
And sun, nostalgic vigil keeps.
The black-red light, a pulsing flood.
The ocean sky, from her virgin blood
That drains a living death, is born-
From the edge of time are softly called,
Two women walking, their sacred feet
On either side of the horizon meet.
One stares with eyes of burnished gold
And round her shapely figure holds
A robe of molten, blinding light,
Her face, in which, is hid from sight.
Each footstep burns an eternal road,
A tuneless song around her flows.
The growing things she once did mind
Have quickly withered, slowly died.
The other weeps from cloudy eyes,
A world of pain in each tear she cries.
Buried in a grey-mist gown,
Her face of steel, once more cast down.
Each footstep is a sodden march,
Her moaning wind is drifting past.
She regards her charges with a shifting frown,
All living things, she slowly drowns.
In the world upon the line,
We, between the two, another find.
She walks with sure, unfailing steps,
With serenity, her brow is blessed.
A leafy skirt, her hips embrace -
A sun-kissed field frames her face.
Through her runs the blood of life,
The twilight hour, her midwife.
When each day begins and at its end,
Two separate roads begin to bend,
Two women share a fleeting glance -
A flash that blinds, then breaks the trance.