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Photo: Urban Sunset, Christine Matthews

–

there’s a moment late in the day when I stop to look at the Western horizon

the eyes of daylight droop letting shadows inform my conscience

in the filtered light my mind contemplates assumptions of reality

opening itself to the turning

reflecting on time passed on home on growing up

–

dying shadows reach beyond daytime borders

beyond sustained secrets of the trees and houses and telephone wires and garbage cans

I feel my father reach for my hand as I hear the ice cream truck coming

I see the fireflies dance around the souls of my dead grandparents

I hear bangs of a can kicked down the street and feet of scurrying boys who will never return

–

at that moment birds settle while bats hover over the neighborhood

these feared mousy creatures are my confidants who know the nature of fleeting time

in still air only they can hear me whisper back an adolescent poem about a boy I love

they grasp my temporary words in their talons

and urge me into night

–

sunlight disappears behind oaks and hills and neighborhoods to the West

the bats follow feeding on other boys’ words

as my voice matures with the sky

I return to the present and see nightfall on the Western horizon

beyond which my whispers have long passed with the bats and shadows

–

Posted on April 21, 2013 at 3:49 pm in My Writing   |  RSS feed |   Reply   |   Trackback URL