Friday, April 20, 2007

Sometimes When the Light

Sometimes When the Light

the golden light of evening
gilds the tops of trees
and pulls the softest brown from
the sedge grass

above it all a harvest moon
alone abides, except for me
while evening dies
and cicadas’ dirge

draws out the stars
who weep not for the passing day
the darkening trees root night to earth
which bends to seal itself to the horizon

I sit pasted into place
drawn dream-like
to stare into the depths of space
between the black and blue of sky

amid the fragrant withered grass of summer