Half-Light (Szürkület)

This clearly dying light just suits me fine.
I look up to the distant trees
Prettily basketting the off-white sky
And there before my very eyes
Features of things have started to flake off
As if their essence had unbound its grip
Dissolving maybe into something else ...
On which it's hard for me to hold a view.
There was a time I'd seize upon this issue
Like a juicy bone; but the ravening mind's
Been whipped into submission by
Masterful reality, chained in the yard
Left to whine at newcomers.
So what does one do, so free and desiccated?
Only the fact of error's standing
...