The poem was written in the winter of 24/25. I watched all that I warned of occurring begin to happen, following the Supreme Court’s ruling on Grant’s Pass.

---

In the mysterious moments when day’s light breaks or wanes,  

Time stirs and hurries on most days.  

The guardian of light pierces night’s heaviest stretch,  

Purifying darkness, manifesting forms in contextual sense. 

The light and sights, always fleeting,  

Some rush to work, their pace unheeding.  

Others roam, in awe of the scene,  

While the less fortunate search for means,  

After a night spent hiding, unseen. 

Unhoused and destitute, safe movement found only in light,  

Yet others see it as a glaring plight.  

Everyone scrambles in the hush,  

Preparing for day’s start or end, colliding in a rush. 

The truth can’t stay hidden – too many unsheltered,  

With nowhere to go but fade into lengthening shadows.  

People head home, safe from the night,  

As the celestial show begins, stars twinkling bright. 

The unfortunate hurry beneath darkening skies,  

Seeking invisibility in the approaching night.  

Enchantments and manifestations, guardians of twilight.  

Crickets chirp, and winds howl with wild canines at the moon,  

Singing prayers for tomorrow’s noon and Hathor’s boon.