Surd for Surprise

here's a surprise, with capacious dread. the sky today, that was so blue, has sagged, retreated, till only the last idea remains. the sun was brilliant as a spectacle until when, then showed a strange trade in documentation. words can't express the distance now being obscured. the fault and umbrage beheld at this time distinguishes the loss of light. this happened today and today still happens. the sun, it seems, has let the world, my world, roll away. no disgust can allow that, no grade of dissatisfaction would qualify this act as just. we live in light, that has always been so. yet darkness, deeper than blue, has sifted in. in where, you might ask. directly, and less of a report than stirring the dreams every single night. how can we move on, stricken by this tender seeming? we've given ourselves to astonishing falls from the heavens, or crashes of aircraft, or odd situations with unnerving selection of people who may be named. and all along, the stunning slaking of a vague thirst. what book began all this? I remember red and orange, extremely so, in the morning in my memory. I remember the stretching rays of the usual light sting into treetops like the invention of gold. I know the invention of gold strays from the immediate session, but I am struck by the application of similar intensities. the mind wonders at connection, always. now the dark is a pure lack of explanation. this situation is serious. sounds seem to arrive from quadrants I haven't studied. I don't know if clouds remain. I've heard that the moon instills, but I've yet to see it. this is night, then, no other way to explain it. blue may reside in that dark, but I can't be sure. perhaps tomorrow will bring a new panoply of those exacting blues that I remember now. do you suppose bright red could enter a tree? that would be a relabeling, or something even more stretched. perhaps the sky too will burn the same red substance. if this darkness moves on, and red can become prime, I will call that a new day.