You come down the hill.
You don’t want to go
Back in the house yet.
You stall by parking
In a public park,
A small one but green
By a small river,
just more than a stream.
The direct sun’s gone
And the desert air
Cools slowly, turning
Pleasant with twilight.
You and some tourists,
Traffic and birdsong
And water murmur.
Uncomfortable
As you are, body
Displeased with itself,
No sheer contentment
Descends, but you’re not
Trapped in a bed,
You’re not shivering,
The pleasant is mixed
With the discomfort
And you’d leave the world
To its devices
To stay here—you’d leave
The world through this door
If it would take you
Like this, if you could.
Thursday, July 13, 2023
The Evening Cooling Slowly
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