In early eve
as things slow 
and even the 
clock’s chime longs
into it’s bong
start of night 
gives its pause 
most never notice 
moments as these
when the shadows 
of day past
roll quietly up
and far away 
lights in kitchens 
show figures moving 
and standing about 
what’s for dinner 

I spent years 
not wanting to 
this and that
what I learned 
is all those 
this’s and that’s 
just pile up 
like snow drifts 
caught in corners 
now I do 
especially when I 
don’t want to 
knowing that now
is when I 
must not later 
for later is
always much worse 
this and that 
are wily foes

Like the air
inside a balloon 
I know it’s 
me that carries
us up there 
you’re the thing 
that keeps me 
from disappearing into 
nowhere but here 
it’s true then
that a book
despite its wisdom 
is little else 
than random paper 
without its binding 
holding it together 

I find
that I
don’t more
than I
do about 
others anyway 
why them
when they 
don’t me
it’s simple 

I now deaf
to the sound
of misery suffering 
being a giveaway 
despair and problems 
are the songs
of the wicked 
but I deaf
now only hear
the sounds of
feathers in flight 
wings of angels 
as they catch 
the Heavenly light