My sons, if there were a book of explanations
it would read: twilight clings to every little thing.
And from there it would tell the story,
how the foundation of a man
is never strong enough to seal the shadows.
They seep into the cracks like cold,
and over years, they grow unseen.
Only the earth feels them
quiet in their lucidity.
The man loses his grounding,
searches for another light from another place,
a far-off place, impossible, unforgiving.
We know how it ends,
written a thousand times,
in bone, in wood, on paper,
the cracks to crumbling,
the little pieces of dusk
washed away into the sea.
Aden Thomas grew up in central Wyoming. Previously, his work has been featured here in Eunoia Review, but also in Kentucky Review, Inflectionist Review, and The Blue Mountain Review. His website is https://adenthomas.com.