The Gloaming

      
The Gloaming
   
So this is the time called the “gloaming”, when
The light is draining from the evening sky.
And though, before the dawn, it’s “gloaming” too,
I’ve mostly seen this at the hour of dusk.

And there’s a stillness in this twilight time,
A pause, as day is yielding place to night.
And looking at the treetops now, I see
They’re barely moving, in the faintest breeze.

And high above, the clouds are swirling, slow,
As all the sky is lit in somber grays.
But since the light is fading, all I see
Are hints of ghostly movements in that arch.

And down below – the silent, rain-washed street,
The lighted windows and the spreading gloom.
And as I walk and reach my waiting door,
It’s quiet, calm and very, very still.

In a puddle in the gutter, I can see
A window – and that gray and eerie glow.
And looking up, the greens are deepening.
The trees will soon be dark against the sky.

And while I watch, the sky is darkening too,
But slowly, making sure to take its time.
If only we would do the same, perhaps
Our twilights could be wondrous gloamings too.

But though I’ve paused to savor this awhile –
This time when time itself appears to pause,
It’s time, I realize, to climb the stairs.
There’s work that’s left that I have carried home.

2014 May 22nd, Thu., 9:47 pm
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York