Receding Day

The light is fleeing to the night

All that is left are the bones of trees

A skulking fenceline,

The faint breath of the moon,

Receding pastels of a summer day.

The hill beyond has turned its shoulder;

It slumbers, humped and heavy, a faint line.

Let it stop now so that the cherry will always

Be the spirit of movement, and a town’s light

Begin to sparkle and beckon.

The wind creeps in and a drape falls – darkness

And a dog calls – a high howl – and pulls tight on the chain, eyes wide and full of longing

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