Old Woman in a Housecoat

An old woman in a floor-length housecoat had become sunset to me, west-facing. Turquoise, sage, or rose, she leans out of her second floor window, chin slumped in her palm, and gazes at the fenced property line between us, the cars beached in the driveway, the creeping slide of light across shingles. When the window shuts, dusk becomes blush and bruises, projected on vinyl siding. Housecoats breathe across the sky like frail clouds.