I’ve Learned to Love You in the Evening
I’ve learned to love you in the evening,
as the traveler learns to love the shaded meadow
Like him, I wrestle the sun for its energy,
a million beams I offer you
The darkening of light from gold to gray,
which suits your flushed cheek
I could watch this motion forever,
the day breaking upon us
You are plentiful in ways I had not imagined,
in ways I imagined were not mine to love
Oh how the world takes to you,
Oh how I take to you
In my meadow, you are a butterfly
of open flutters
Not mine or the earth’s,
but of an ancient rythm
Your touch sinks through me
as if I were empty
As if I were not a man, or even skin or bones,
but a cacoon you once had use for
A canister for your kisses,
I am content to be
There is little more to this world
than you in the evening
Now I am Hollow and Somber
Now I am hollow and somber,
having wrote to you all those nights
Like summer, you slipped through my cupped hands,
though you did not stain them of dew
I have nothing left,
I have loved you and you have not
Yesterday, you leapt swiftly
as the sun flees the cooled desert
Now my hands stick of flowers
but not of you