Always setting in
the twilight of the west
As took hold
the rising eastern sun
And fading night
was upon
So we flew
to mourning
Arid, free
of tears
A desert of
language borne
In your
characteristic silence
A storybook
parapet
Formed in
the new air
Of things
dated
A new breath
coaxed
Your
sharpened mind
To the dull ache
Of what had
been your apathy
Yes it was a
lightness
That was
loose of care
Somehow
unimaginable
In its
re-existence
Yet too soft
to speak
Of what once
was
Your only
dream
To wake and
be free
Of all that
would steal your lit soul
Contemplating crepuscular
And always in
the dry light of the pines
This August had already passed
A late body of wax and time
Jason Greendyk
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