Look like last night
the light hardly wanted
to leave—it hung
round in the pines
for what seemed hours
after the sun said
its goodbyes. Sometimes
can get hard
to just go, you know—
we stand around talking
not noticing the dark
rising up around
our feet.
Stand up & maybe
stretch & see
ourselves home. We
be a gas station dog
waiting for something
to fall, so we
can eat awhile
& sleep. When morning
decides to wake
maybe just this once
it’ll be late
& we can join the table
already set, like fate—
welcomed by the knives—
& just from the scent
of something someone we love
cooked for us
feel fed.