Sunset’s Child

I stand and shed this traveled hide
Behind I leave fourteen tines
And when, again, through darkness growls
The Huntsman’s cheerless horn

Here will I rise from salted foam
There shed the black and loam
And from the arms of tempered time
Comes promises drenched in wine

This crest of light that chooses night
Reflects that self-same echo
What favors sun cannot this be
Ambushed in our conjoined plight

For to me you stand like fire pulled loose
From sunset’s red-gold breast
And dusk in obeisance will bow down deep
To descend into an ocean of night