Poem 23

I wrote this on Thursday of this week mostly while I was walking to the grocery store. It was one of those days when nothing was really happening sunset-wise, but there were a few clouds packed onto the eastern horizon from the rain earlier in the day.

Let me Say Something about the Dusk

The clouds stuck to the East
like the last scrapings of frosting
in a mixing bowl.

And where they hung,
collecting easy light
from the leaving sun,
only a few in town saw.

Perhaps people driving that way
noticed how the clouds collected there
like the last fans
at a baseball game
watching a team leave the field.

But most, I was sure, thought,
At last,
a clear sky.

It seemed like a waste,
at first,
but I relaxed
because the sky let it go,
knowing she had beauty to spare.