Twilight City
Standing on the corner at the dying of the day,
Watching workday people hurry home.
The echoes of “It’s suppertime!”
ring up and down the way,
This is my favorite time to walk alone.
Bare branches clack and rustle on the quiet, shadowed streets,
I watch as lamplit windows start to glow.
The warmth within where husbands, wives,
and happy children meet
Reminds me of how far I have to go.
I cup the warmth of my bare hands against my ruddy cheeks,
The moon comes up, and stars begin to shine.
Another silent walker nods, but neither of us speaks,
We drink the cold like sweet November wine.
Copyright Deelight 1996. All Rights Reserved.
