Dawns I dislike.
They’re much too rudely early.
Dusk’s my time of day.
There’s still light enough
to do things, but night
is sprinting down the way.

Dusk’s not this or that.
Layers of color,
blue upon purple upon pink upon orange.
A sun sinking low, balancing out the moon.
Darkness creeping up by degrees.

I think I’m like dusk.
I’m wrapped tight in layers
of obfuscation.
Don’t look here or there,
hiding the secrets at the center.
Dark and light balanced
on a swinging pendulum. 

Like dusk, I am 
something else every day.