Friday Sunset
Often I've met a Friday sunset
while following an anarchist's heart
writing down each line of free thought
hoping for more than a poetic fart.
Thinking about Fridays past and
how many were moments of relief,
facing the late afternoon sun and
letting warmth sink to the lowest depth.
Floating moments filled with good will
come back to me now and I think
that maybe I have changed not at all
in this long journey from the first link.
I remember a store front window fifty years ago,
a Friday, sitting and feeling the sunset's good warm glow,
floating over a coffee in a succession of now,
at that time too young to care or even reason how.
Faced with a point of knowledge that
is all Descartes knew for sure,
and is the only fact with which I am left,
the only thought that is pure.
Not a sad thought, just a lonely moment.
The sun is down, the air is calm,
all that is worthy of comment.
Time to start the long walk home.
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