evensong

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    the lingering light of spring
    loses to the descending dark
    despite our best efforts to
    hold the night at bay

    (there’s no way around it)

    the only way to daylight
    is to live through till dawn
    which all works fine until
    I tell you this is metaphor

    (it is a poem, after all)

    the dark is undaunted
    the dawn’s in no hurry
    we’re going to hurt like this
    for the rest of our lives

    (is there any good news?)

    we must answer slowly
    as deliberately as snails
    holding hearts and hurts
    for as long as it stays dark

    Peace,
    Milton

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