After the distant longing clang
of churchbell songs recedes,
first comes the twilight
and then, that charmed silence—
washing over
the tilted planet,
beckoning rats
from dark wombs of nests
to the post-dinner
rush of back
alley trash feasts,
razing proud empires of day
to the street,
and darkening
the newly-strange path
of concrete
I suppose I should really take
home—
in a minute.
