Day slips into the place of listening:
Image against sun—a small bird,
forelimbs flowing like a monastic silver–
tinged garment in prayer.
On the street, closing sounds of day:
two boys edge the corner, cleats scuffing
the pavement, soccer gear in arms,
then Meg out of her house, calling
retina is ok, eye healing.
The fenced–in sheltie stands, stretches
and yawns as the boys pass, their two
heads together, celebrating themselves.
Past the fountain now, to Wheeler hill,
Sun magenta, those wings—silver and
lonely— on the wing with sun in a sea
of nearly still light, folding into night.