Evensong

Water and wind, the gasp of falling night
The fading warmth, the last caress of light
Hope tossed like leaves upon the failing flame
We turn again to speak the other's name

I walked alone. There was the faint scent of curing tobacco, of sweet evening flowers crushed by tired feet. The storm had come, had gone. Everything felt transient, and nothing felt permanent except the never-ending scent of rain. Or so it seemed.

The age of trees, the moss upon the stone
A dreaming dog, his little mind a bone
The houses filled with sleeping death of life
A night of rain that puts an end to strife

This journey has always been mine alone. The family dozes in the tired weariness of the working world. My brother tosses, the agony of adolescence upon him; my sister turns with the new knowledge of what stress really means. It is twenty years gone.

The empty rooms, the hand of love grown cold
The widened pocket with a trace of mold
A memory of you so slim and tall
And we who once danced proudly at the ball

Do you ever think of some other world where things were as we once wished they would be? Can we paint the sadness of another time which never was, and map the geography of delight in a world which never could be? And are those mountains for real?

The dead-end street with useless lamps alight
An old flame gutters lonely and alone
And we tonight are separately old
Each half-formed line reminds us what is not