Thursday, October 7, 2010

The Sadness of the Evening

It's the time of perpetual darkness
when artificial lamps daub the dying with life
and the birds hide silent in camouflage stripes
and you can't see the words in shaking leaves
nor the way the world moves boldly through the clouds
—even the rocks are swallowed, for you are not welcome here
except in the warm light of community rooms,
where people will gather 'round tables,
share in a fresh pot of coffee,
unwrap packages, shift in chairs.