a joy to know one of your ilk a crepuscular bird fleeting so smoothly from one place of light to another in this age of darkness a joy to know magic lingers in this world of machinery where even men are mechanized in subservience to the dying light rage, rage, we’re told against the dying of the light but when? each day only a little dimmer such as to ridicule rage mock it into the shame of impotence until only obscurity remains and then you still dancing at weddings in magical places as if the world had not descended into stygian darkness [3-III-2021]