Tawny day was turning violet, growing older

Right before my eyes.

It seemed as if it could be construed

As something lovely, a lovers' moment.

But before I could find a lover,

It ran away, crept away, flew away,

Whatever it is that happens when a precious thing

Goes from this place to another, newer, one.


I want to lie, without a worry, in the arms of

Sunset, having done that thing I set out to do

That morning. This morning. So many mornings.

So many mornings that I've had and lost.

Lost, or misplaced, in my rush to sundown.

In my hurry to rest I forget the reason I've come.