Disclaimer: The lovers an their black cathedral are Annie's. I make no money.
The Chill Hour
The peepers bedded down. The chill hour: owl owns all, lovers live, pale moon loses some of its luster by comparison.
The mountain felt a black cathedral, this its choir, pews scratching posts for horses. God was all but that which was man. Everything was mixed. Evil was heaven; a man's own labor, woe. Never one without the other.
They painted beautiful, plunged creative. The kingfisher, silent, did not remove his belt. He too was acquainted with sky, knew chasing wind. Ennis suppressing the expanse in orbs: a sky that never rained for him.
The kingfisher settled into his wait.