The setting sun comes through
by Bonnie E. Lorenc
My curtains, weaving latticed
Imperceptibly it shifts and
Works it's magic on the ivy bloom
Translucent and alive, no longer
Ordinary in the dancing shaded gloom.
Trees bend casting myriad lights
That only last a second as the wind
Orchestrates the flailing branches
Filtered through ordinary windows,
Transformed before my dazzled eyes
Then it's gone.