Streaks of crimson

Edged in twilight

Hover like long

Quiet javelins above

Dusty afterthought clouds

Shadow fresh skies

A far-off burning

Begins to glow

Above the treeline

As jagged canopies

Like reaching fingers

Tickle the dawn

Making it blush

Red braking cateyes

Turn white in

The turn about

Startled by mistake

It is quiet

Here like cemeteries

Except for the

Lone peeping of

One lonely grouse

Morning now here