Pink Dusk
My ancestors came from such places
The sky was pink and dry
In the morning
A brilliant star still hangs above the hibiscus
And the shouts of distant children
Decorates the air in tota bells
Soon dust will spray
From the lower roads
But in the high hills
A lone kite floats wistfully
A green unmoored boat
On a sea of violet blue.
Poetry and art all rights reserved Veronica Aldous 2024