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.