And Summer’s Dwelling.
Now:
The soft urgency of evening comes as a call of light.
Light in windows,
And the closing edge of shadows,
Where far off night calls for tomorrow’s respite.
The last places fold themselves into corners,
Where sounds hide,
Descending,
Slipping into a quickening stop now,
While yielding to the hills beyond
Staring down at our polka dot splendor,
While they wait their turn.
.
Now, the calendar gets marked,
Not in numbers and squares,
But in these lines,
Those corners,
And the rough shapes of passed time.
.
Now I remember this path,
Where it led,
How it was worn somewhat,
But tread in new shoes,
At a steady pace,
To the whims of clarity,
And the luxuries delivered
From the old shadows
Lurking all the while
Among the familiar.
Shaken Rain 