All That I Have Taken In

At day's end, I take in the last light seeping into the dark waters across the bay and keep it here. I gather the sound of departing gulls smudged on the sky, the quietening settle of birds in the cypress trees along the foreshore, the giggle of a child high on a swing being pushed by a mothers hand. I hold here the gentle sweep of waves soaking into wet sand, the slow roll of seaweed, bubbles bursting around shells, wings low over the water. I draw in the evening and keep it close with its lights sprinkled around the edges of the headland, emerging stars hung soundless in the heavens, the blinking passage of a southbound airplane heading into a long night. From somewhere, the smell of honeysuckle spilling into the waiting air. I make my way home, filled with all that I have taken in, almost happy having little space left over to fit myself.