the last of skies--in a Monet painting,
              crisscrossed in an escaping care,
                another sunset superfluous . . .

            but purple flowers smile, unknowing,
              as a single daisy winks
                an understanding, final embrace--
              a mossy shrug, uncaring--delicately tough,
                  border on a grassy, final plain.

     as pastels fade to monochrome in deserted light,
        crimson=sienna=grey,
           in geometric progression
              from love to nothingness . . .