The Last Glimmer Of Twilight...........
Under the arc of a gull, echoing nothing,
I walk the park,
watching the gathering squalls of starlings
as they flee toward the mouth of the sun.
With the last glimmering twilight
like the outgoing tide,
Winter approaches, like a foreboding
Drawing the sweeping undertow of black birds
toward its encroaching darkness.
Summer is folded away like clothes,
husks of insects fall from the sills,
and every pause
fills with nervous chatter
as people turn to whisper,
Of all things seeking closure.
with the weight of silence upon the tongue
We pull at the cloak of winter
and as barflies, lured by neon
Swarm into taverns
lighting wicks to burn wax, drink spirits
and, fingering shadows on the walls,
Warm our hands over another’s heart.
With a few well worn words, as tindersticks,
we stoke the flames of conversation,
into the warm art of intercourse,
of intimate thoughts with a private stranger.
Finally, snuffing words with a thumb at wicks end,
we whisper good night,
and, as plumes of smoke, billowing
from our mouths
We open the door and rise into the cold