Dusk

Dusk is the groom
in robes of scarlet.
We save our small change
to mirror his splendor
with our homemade lamps.
Some are sardine tins,
and some, emptied cans
of evaporated milk.
Yet, with a wick and kerosene,
a small flame of blue and gold
emerges from our homemade lamps.
Sunset smells of kerosene poured
and rings with the cries of the schoolboys
who sell it.

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