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.
Comments
Post a Comment