Dusk

Dusk. The morning's frost
still lies on the shrouded path.
The sky, a fiery tangerine one way,
a dingy grey the other.

Stillness. Silence. One moment
among a million the same,
a million seen by people who care
more about what's on TV.

A streetlight flickers on,
another everyday expectancy,
illuminating a path that remains
unwalked.

The point? Nonexistant.
The view? Depends.
Myself? To me it remains
another daily miracle.