Sunset, by Britta Benson


Sunset ushers in disputes and objections.

Even the birds succumb to this urge

for a sweet little while until all is soothed

and settled for the night. Do not hold on

too hard once the world has gone quiet

or try to grab a sinking sun by the scruff,

squeeze life to death with your love and

cold fingers. You’ll burn. Be gutsy. Let go.

When rebels kindly concede and even

the most anxious of giants lay down their

heads next to heavy grudges, grasp

that nobody owns another’s journey.

Britta Benson

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