evening light

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we walked tonight

at sunset just in time

to see the fading sun

reach across town for

an old building and

bask it in the splendor

of what was left undone

 

home now my kitchen

smells like that sunset

full of sorrow and stories

while the singer reaches

for what is as true as

the light on old buildings

and I sing along . . .

 

Peace,

Milton

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