Dusk is when all where and who
mumbles like views down a drain
the time between the unseen best
and worst of you all stretched out
to lighten up that first unrolling
wave of darkness when stars drone.
A light sweater and a glass of milk
and word-play on the front porch
a conversation with Venus as
the sun retires but will not leave
silent rhyming is trying to find
some recognizable friend beyond
the highest and stillest cloud.
Even without any veritable
wind the wind is felt and smelled
just as it used to greet the night
in Barnstable and Brewster after
all events were loosened up
already drinking like a fish if only
fish could pour and sip and gulp
that nectar concocted out of
past and future shaken on
ice with a twist of lime.


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
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