The Words of Evening

The trees are idle, in their stances
the wind far long gone
sometimes the breath of stillness
is like life dreaming in daylight.

The country of early October had no fruit
Not burst open in the grass, and the birds then
came with cries of absence and of rubble
On a high carved hull, moving quickly towards us.

My words of evening,
You have the chill of late autumn grapes
But even now the wine burns in your soul
and I find my one true warmth in what you have begun.

My words of evening,
Your utterance slices the sky in two eternities
but still I find fullness
in what you end.

The ship of a clear October's end
may come. Then we shall mingle these two lights
O my bright ship wandering at sea,

Clarity of coming night and clarity of speech
-The mist that rises above all living things
And you the glowing of my lamp in death.