Evening Light

The trees undress slowly from the top. Bare arms arc vainly into the sky. It is Sunset. Orange skirts swirl in an awful Dying light. The ground is littered gold. I stop the scene with the shutter of my eye- Stop and hold and mark- this blue, these reds And holding greens- those rusts upon the ground. I stoop and hold this one dry leaf. It crumbles in my hand, and I see a picture From the morning paper speak as if alive. Five Turkish children killed by earthquake Lie upon the ground, seemingly asleep.