I am watching the evening insinuate itself
Into the conversation about the day.
Dinner time had no mention of her, there
Were still doves admiring the liquid amber trees.
The weather wanted to see things differently,
Clearing, then a haze and a confusion of cloud
Types culminating in a less than enthusiastic
Fury as the sun relinquished its part in the conversation.
The path went from the beach up a small creek
But as it did there were lots of trees in the canyon
Holding the creek. Shadows were setting up
Night camps and small birds sought perches
To watch the show. We watched the foot
Bridges ease into the landscape like rainbows that
Had lost their color and were waiting for the
Flare that would say evening was indeed here.
I will stand here until it is impossible to tell
One object from another. There is little hope for
The moon tonight. The evening begins to cup
The sun in its hands and starts to hide
It from view. Why even talk about a landscape
Except that we remember the others who are
Unable to see this evening, who climb to sleep
Without these blessed thresholds to touch them.
Every leaf on every tree closes its lights down
And cries for us to remember it, stores the moment,
Blesses us with change, holds the dark off for a
Final moment and considers the entire world as one thing.