for Sheila
white rind of an eye:
crescent moon’s curving gaze;
that cedar has turned into
a shadow, those
parking strip iris turn
white blossoms skyward—
what else should they look
at? one golden planet
unblinking in this evening’s
indigo
membrane must catch a
glimpse of kousa dogwood’s
multiple inflorescent eyes
looking back;
nightfall's elements
reading nightfall's poem
Jack Hayes
© 2017
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