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AMINU MAHMUD
Sunset
The sun is slipping,
like sand grains
through the fingers
into the horizon.
A shadow play in forgotten corner
deep in the grip of hourglass
when words unspoken
like the spider's lacy web
forced two ends of a wall together.
Rain like blizzard
beating against the windowpane:
one last drop falls
when spoken words
plot pastiche unto time.
Ashes keeping faith with ashes
were grown into the
mirthful humus.
The sun is slipping, so are the sand grains.
ƒ „
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