Evening settles down
in the warm lawns and
corridors, darkness has
not invaded just yet;
bruises of light
still blossom
in the steadily purpling sky.
What if the only kind
of magic that exists
is what you choose
to imbue the world with?
I shudder, but smile,
making space for a sliver
of silver moon, placed gently
in the clear bowlful of sky;
watch remnants of golden sun
tremble into darkness.
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