the evening torch.
my weariness is swallowed up in this enormous, dusky sky
stars appear each in their own turn
dogs bark in the distance telling their stories of friend and foe
an airplane slowly passes overhead,
the hum only slightly heard over the humdrum of this moment
lights flick on and click off down this street as neighbors slowly migrate from television to crossword puzzle book,
from recliner to bed
as the last drops of daylight slip behind the far mountain,
fireflies take up the evening torch with their mad and untraceable dance
my loneliness is swallowed up in this grand silence,
the hum of my world only slightly heard over the humdrum of this moment
and now i join the evening migration
flick on, click off.
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about the writer.
“Words are only postage stamps delivering the object for you to unwrap” (George Bernard Shaw)