FLIGHT

The earth is rimmed by a halo of color
as the sun, on its quiet way to the West,
embraces it gently with arms of light,
embraces it softly and bids it goodnight.

The land below has accepted the dusk
and is still while the sun and I run from each other.
Darker and darker grows earth while I fly.
Thunderheads clash to our left in the sky.

Soon there is no one to watch but the moon,
it's white face aglow in the black universe.
Soon it will see me touch down, like a bird,
My eyes filled with sky, my vision thus blurred.


			Lucille Murphy