The Corner

Poetry

TWILIGHT

A blazing sun caught in the trees

Attempts to set, but branches mesh

And hold the globe. Those rays they seize

Should now have been in Marrakesh.

 

We are just little figures there,

Absorbing errant rays that stream

Upon the porch. A white lawn chair

Casts its long shadow on the screen

And that greyed grass surrounding us.

But sun is running far too late

To stop, explain, or make a fuss.

Dark is what we anticipate.