On the day the world stopped turning
Clouds began to gather,
high on the curve of the earth,
softly soaking up
the pastel shades
of that final dusk
They were not
a portent of doom
but a calming comfort,
peaches and violets,
occasionally edged
in brilliant gold,
even the grey tops
floating dove-like
gliding in silence.
Or so I thought
looking at the magic
forming in the sky above me,
Should this be,
the final night approaching,
that love somehow
would remain,
not needing the dawn,
daybreak to be real,
the truth in the fading light
was that my Comforter
did not depart with the sun.
I was not alone
bereft in the darkness,
Nor would I ever be.