This sun drifts toward a lower key:
down with the bass notes where each night falls
deeper than yesterdays, its pale knowledge a thin line
closer to grey. To Empty. Autumn creeps closer,
like an evening of timid stars, peeking down
with eyes that closed an age before. While sad,
this helps us understand, how everything lost
in that dimming time is held as a memory of light.

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24 old applause
