Evening Falls

A gentle joint of the day’s body

is evening, echo of dawn.

Light wisely surrenders

Dusk extends a mantle;

Quiet embraces day’s 

booming blaring, and

silence tips in head-down. 

Evening is good, and easy 

to love, but now not so. 

Evening’s softness carries

whispers loved, heard anew

of a voice known from ever,

of ways familiar and 

movements, second nature. 

Heard and seen no more. 

A glance unintended 

at a dearest face 

preserved under glass

renews the fountain, 

and years collapse to one

sacred moment, baptized


Good folk ask in care

how are you, and though

their nurture permits truth,

easiest to stutter the


Hanging in there.

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