Orpheus

Peculiar
how the skies have painted themselves tonight;

hastily applied mascara
to make something in time?

dipped in amber,
an overcastly maelstrom -

a half-molten golden gaze of challenge
swirling from the city bank of lights
to ache away
in lower angles,
dull strokes – graphite-like;

tonight the sky is dressed as Orpheus’ iris

in the volatile
and all so fateful back-sight.