Twilight

Music blasts through tinny speakers, a river
of bars rising and falling. Each note carries over
against a backdrop of mackerel-blue pixels.

The bass rumbles like thunder
through the smooth frame of my laptop.
My gaze wanders,
and a flash of red captures my attention.

It is the glory of a farmer--
luscious sin against a curtain of innocence on glossy cover.
The chatter of House and Hepburn fades in the background.
There are no words for twilight, only the lure of a dark world of ink.

The book begins: one trial followed fast
upon another; a Monday world
turned upside down, suddenly lost.

Yet, as always, romance from the time of Ovid
claims an ordinary girl, who washed upon the shore
of judgement day to disappear suddenly
at the crinkle of the last page, the sun-glare
of a white expanse the harbinger of return to reality.