Sussex Skies

In the slow bleed of evening

the world is holding its breath,

as if the sky itself is about to speak,

to pour out its heart

in a language of colours

only lovers can read.

Brushstrokes of lavender,

orange peel,

and the quiet bruise of night

pressing its thumb

against the day’s surrender.

This hour belongs to shadows,

and secrets only the stars understand.

And there, in the deepening blue,

a single bird dips and rises,

its wings cutting through the dusk,

carrying the last of the light

on its back.