Poem: These Evenings (Summer 1975)


These evenings, oh, these evenings,
Colors hum to milkwhite walls;
Chipped-base bricks and spraycan sprawls,
Late-day traffic moans away,
Where do they go, where will they stay?
Sirens and copters, clocks and machines,
Such a fatiguing American scene.
While sitting with tea, waiting to see
What we all await in coming to be.
The glow that awoke me, well,
I’m now hearing the six-o’clock bell.
Though darkness envelops, still I see;
But shadows can cover more cunningly.
When I lie back to think of the light,
And of hours that were put to flight,
I doubt I’ve attained what was hoped,
So in darkness I continue to grope.


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