Celine Beaulieu


The daughter of twilight walks,
betwixt and between,
between evening and dusk.
Ethereally she passes
between the day and night.

She is caught in the medial,
neither a part of this world
nor part of another.

Her hair is the rain falling.
Her eyes are part wind and part cloud.
She borrows colors from the dawn,
painting patterns in the sky.
Her voice sings the nocturnal
as she departs at night’s touch.

Her sadness is fulfilled in the sunset
as she covers us daily
and tucks us into the night.
We succumb to her beauty.



By the lakeside, after rainfall,
in the green-blue still of dusk,
blurts of sound come from under
as air and tails break free.



Crab shells on the pavement,
orange, tan and yellow,
compose an accidental still life,
craving a prior movement.

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