That time of evening
     when the sun, sinking
into amber, gives way
     to the white-cool moon;
when pink like the vee of geese
     pushes up against deepening
blue; when the cricket,
     once solo and vibrato,
thrums with thousands;
     when red-winged blackbirds,
stretching, feeling the wire’s hum
     beneath their feet,
succumb to their final flight;
     when cold air spills
into valleys, frothing at their brims,
     and warmth on hilltops,
having clung like honey
     to every vestige of light
at last, lets go;
     then I, too, buoy in the wake
of the passing day,
     vulnerable as earth,
fearing not the anointing of night
     yielding to the swell of eventide.

 From Slipping Out of Bloom (WordTech Editions, 2010).
This poem first appeared in Avocet.
Used here with the author’s permission.