Dusk Sun

Give me but a moment to set aside these books (the authors all dead), and we shall go out into this night strapped together beneath an umbrella. Pennsylvania hums to the drone of an evening wind. But we shall listen to the rain and watch these skittering shadows find solace in an alley's embrace. Give me but a moment and we shall go -- we'll watch March rise up on weary bones and ravage the streets around us. We shall walk and worry about the mutterings of a street lamp and the call of the rain longing for company. Drops hold out empty palms and beckon, but our mouths drip golden coins and refuse to answer. Give me but a moment and you shall hear the low moan of the lights and the failing day's final sigh. You will turn to me beneath these clouds heavy with a song of the sea and touch my hair, my neck. We will give up this silence to the course call of a dying sun.