Dusk

On the edge of endings
warmth begins a slow decline
to cool evening,
streets emptying
of all the rush
and wrack of living.

Time slows upon
a final depth of turning world
before the darkness
finally arrives,
a moment long as geologic eon,
as brief as falling raindrops,
winding river-slow through
the alleys and the driveways,
breath stilled on edge
of patient precipice.

Along the roads
the waiting houses
begin a yellow glow
of welcoming,
pressed shining through
the glaze of windows,
beacons of contentment
guiding home their
weary owners eager
for the quiet within.

Around the curves
of dimming streets
the steetlights come to life
in crimson light
that grows into
an orange warmth
to replace the dying sun.

Beyond the curbs,
within the evergreens already
dark with ending day,
leaves dissapear into the gloom
while small birds concealed
unseen within
sing themselves to final roosts,
as slivered moon rises up
curved and sacred out across
the slant of roofs
and first hints of pinprick stars:
night has not yet come
but dusk has now arrived,
and it is time to go.