"Dusk"

 

The town exhales—
a soft geometry of roofs and fields
folding into shadow.
He sits where the light
still lingers,
jacket creased like memory,
hands easy on the stone.

 

The church steeple leans
into the horizon’s stillness,
a single bird
drawn to the vanishing point.

 

No declarations.
Just the red of his collar
holding warmth
as the sky turns
from blue to bruise.   

 

He does not rise.
The scene does not end.
It waits—
like a held breath
between frames.

 

 

 

 

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