Evening Song


Dare I try to turn about, when night is setting?
I was following the sun, though with a slower pace,
It is just now over the hill, turning through space,
To the land of its own begetting.

Or should I turn about, although the east is cast in night?
Admit my life, my quests, and any virtue, a puff of air,
Accept my wages, my withered face, my thin gray hair,
& stagger, hunched & faltering, toward pitch-black light.

The light has turned golden on this winter day,
It makes the trees black silhouettes,
& the east sky gray.
How fleeting is this light, this winter evening,
My kitty on my lap, & my regrets,
Like smoke from a cigarette,
Dark pleasure, dark pain, darkly deceiving.

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