Close of Day
Trees nearly bare, we watch colors
drain from the sky,
no regrets
over what we might have missed
in the light.
Our bodies like candles have burned
in so many rooms—
a wonder we rest at all, being
where we’ve been,
seeing all we’ve seen
on this earth of loss,
earth of erasure,
where each moment
the sun rises somewhere—
deer graze on damp meadow grass,
children lug backpacks to school,
the universe
expanding in their eyes.
The world goes on
as we settle into the pillowed dark.
May the descent to the subliminal
rebirth us.
May dreams unravel life’s complexities,
be windows to beyond.
Let dawn assure us the light we are
is enough.
© 2023 Lew Forester
first published in Sky Island Journal
