Friday, May 29, 2015

The Beginning of Evening

When the northern sky grew pale
with the setting of the sun,
and one half of the sky
held the other in its hand,

and the western streets knew winter,
and the cities were as grass,
and you were here among the hidden
like a child among the lost,

still the quietness was there, still
the shadows closed the blinds,
still the door between the windows
opened to your small, cold hands,

till a drift of southern swallows
swept above the apple trees,

and you slept among the rushes
beneath wasps and flies and bees.


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