The hard work is done
and so the edge of night approaches
lines the south side of peaks with golden glow
draws a red line where the sun just disappeared
along the mountains’ thrusts and plunges.

There is a peace between
the blue on blue of peak beyond peak.
No human lights to pull the eye from deepest violet.
A white stone outcrop like a ship with sails
spread wide to winds that whip the roadside weeds.

The inner fires burn low.  In the dim light,
cars and trucks turn on their lights,
making chains of gold and red
that spiral around the valleys
like necklaces and bracelets.

The sky inks over and loses its glow.
My time is almost gone
and now the mountains are just shoulders
blocking a few stars, a no-color, no-light place
where grass and sage waft perfumes to moths.

Laura L Mays Hoopes is Emerita Professor of Biology, Pomona College. In 2013, Hoopes received the MFA in Creative Writing from San Diego State University and a Certificate from UCLA In 2009. Hoopes has published the memoir, Breaking Through the Spiral Ceiling, and fiction, poetry, and non-fiction pieces in Chaffin Journal, North Carolina Literary Review, Fat City Review and others.