The calico hair of sunset
floats
on a crumple-edged ocean,
loose strands
turning blue silver under early starlight.

It’s the way Earth holds her head
now,

down
like an old mother
ignored,

lost in her prayers
or distant greener memories
or perhaps in contemplation

as another day ends
in reflection

of how star shadows
fold into the warming
white-crested waves,

or moon-lit breezes
glide over dwindling beaches,

or what the risen seas
bring to her lesser children

from beyond

the agelessness
of breaking bits

of the plastic
manmade
horizon.