Sunrises are overrated.
Their rosy fingers
pry apart our eyelids
before we’ve adjusted
to still being alive,
had a first stretch
or a cup of coffee
to prepare us for joy.
Sunsets suit us more.
We’re by then ready
for the salmon swath
across the western sky,
this signal of cycles,
of eventual endings,
this lingering of the light
descending into night.
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