The dusk sings in colors not taught in school.
A hush spreads on rooftops,
while birds draw shadows with invisible ink.

The city forgets to blink,
caught in the throat of a sky
humming lullabies to no one.

Windows become amber squares of warmth,
each one a story refusing
to be told too quickly.

And in the space between
streetlight and starlight,
I discover the dialect of dusk—

a language written in the slant
of shadows, spoken in the pause
before night claims its inheritance.

Anya R writes poetry that finds the extraordinary in everyday moments. Her work has appeared in various literary journals, and she teaches creative writing workshops focusing on observational poetry and mindful attention to language.