In this way the day slipped off the slope of the sun and evening fell like a collapsed wall. Sky and earth: one embrace. Windows of the sick, lights on bridges, eyes of gendarmes, and minarets blink now. In the market place walls of darkness are piled up at the doors and the dark walls, stacked together, collapse like tombstones from a fallen mountain. The night ends with a delicate cloud tinged pink, like a petal lost in the darkness as day rushes forth. (0 twilight red, color of my life, that was a real goodbye we said. Night has lost you. Day has lost you. Memory alone brings you back.) In this way night dies with the sun springing to mount the sky and the streets inhaling the sounds of din, braziers of light spilling illumination to make shadows piercing the stones. O noon, you fill my heart with fear and grief, showing me more than I want to see. Blessings on you, noontime blaze, your light stings the eyes and dims sight, changes houses and people into solid cubes of pastel stone. And this is how the delicate color gray is born: Weariness creeps into the veins of the sun at day’s end, street noises dissipate and are absorbed into the soft contours of gray, (the color of my days not days lived in life, but in contemplation). Now dusk. Now a parting glance from the sun leaning fatigued against the hills. Now, blackness. And my life passes while I live in expectation, waiting for one radiant moment in the darkness of night or one quiet moment in the clamor of day.