The Way – By Joseph Smith-Cambell

the way the sunset scrapes the valley before 
easing off into
treetops

the grace with which purple and 
indigo surrender to 
blackness

and the sound of crickets slowly 
replaces the creaking of
ravens

in the cooling summer night
the shimmer of
sunlight 

isn’t here
but then 

i can’t be sure where i am either
left in the purples
maybe 

still shimmering in the 
greens or the 
oranges

but i am here

a rainbowman
a gossamer thread
a forgotten tender memory

that rests quietly in the darkness
beneath the hum of the fans
below the rhythmic pulse of crickets

a gentleness
a softness

a velvet blanket of night
that cherishes
all things