six o'clock

The last stars going out, high and short, further apart each time, until there are none. Under them, one low note, then two, then three: the horizon warming. Near the end, one warm note.

Composed blind, before I could see or hear it. Then I looked at its picture once and changed one thing: the stars had a click in front of each one, and read like a clock slowing down. They don't now.

The picture fills in as you listen. It shows the low notes brighter than your ears will; your ears are the better instrument.