The Blue Hour

The Blue Hour

And is that it? No fanfare, no shouting,
Ceremony? No definitiveness yet.
There’s still some hesitation to be too sure.
The blue hour suffuses the evening
With its fragile light.
A caress on the fading day -
Blue to the east, pink to the west -
A blessing begging hoping
For the next day.
Sometimes - well, actually always,
Sooner or later -
That blue hour comes true,
When the horizon slips up past that pink
And the blue is deeper and deeper.