If you look up, over the recently unravelling autumn trees, you will see lights in the distance. Leaves. If you look up, across the twinkling, darkling bay, you will see lights in the distance. Leeward sunk. If you look up in the forest clearing, those lights in the distance are genuine stars. Leaky gleam. Dusk is the vague smudge of a moon cutting its outline from laminate cloud. Distilling whole consciousness to geography, you revisit dusk to discover some memory.
Maria Sledmere, from “Elegiac Light: On Dark Pastoral, The Poetics of Dusk,” L'Éphémère Review (no. VII)

















