And in the east the fire-orange glow creeps over the horizon, touching mountaintops with its silent warm fingers,
leaving valleys chilled in the forgetful fog of night.
The merging of two worlds,
repeated as it has for eons,
and newborn fresh even still.

Somewhere, at any given time, this dance continues,
with night telling day, “It’s yours”, and day telling night “It’s yours”, and in perfect step the two maintain their
eternal equality.