Sunset Patina

A bold patina kisses the skyline inventing the broad brusher stroke of color called Sunset.  Man, it falls in as the sky embraces it, that wonder an experience found on the Naples Gulf Coast Pier, the Sun, smiling down on us, everyone.  Maybe it's not just the Sun.  Maybe the moon singing us dreamy through our sleep tight night, each memories coallenscence the refraction of moonbeam protected by the many little bright lights hanging there with it. Maybe it's the water, it's rumbling rushing, it's rushing torrential cascade, that kisses with downy brush strokes our cheek the same as summer rain.  Maybe it's its smiling, laughing, chatting gayly, hoping to continue it's smooth foamy rush.   The starlight rains from the sky, as many cascading raindrops falling to earth as pure conciouness, each one, when falling ignites it's manyhued tramping into with the past.  Maybe it's the sifted dirt, standing stoic from stone, steady as the earth revoluting and revolving and throwing off all mar to dissolving into the universe, converted to good.  There are many, there are few, and the multitudes surging and slowly ascending towards a neabound heaven we find in the curious, the unknown, the existential.  Whereby does heaven rise?  In all, Son.  In All.