Every Broken Thing

A Dark Dismay
The Poetry Of Lance McKnight
 
Solar Flare


                               
Her gaze flames out like spires
from some celestial obstruction.
Predictably preserved in long
exposure, or enhanced, for a
delayed digital presentation.

When sun sinks low to surface
or edge in that absolute last
green moment - screaming out to
someone, somewhere, "it is
done," it fades yet never repeats.

Falls away as ash, somberly placed
upon forehead, like cross
and this time, finally, finished.