The sun draws the day in silence
To its yellow close,
And shadows’ light advancement seeks
What each final lit patch knows.
Our lengthened, shadowed frames emerge
And merge along those nowhere lines
Which stroll away, like tired eyelids
Or quiet, afternooning minds.
Thus conversation, thethered, tails,
Speaks itself to sunny sleep.
The people playing in the park
Play gently, letting shade its creep.
Though the golden light, submerged,
No longer casts its calmest play,
The Evening is not yet to fall
Upon remembered day.
