There are Times in Evening
There are times in evening,
When the crickets, the cicadas
Begin to churr their soothing surreptitious song,
Settling me smooth and slinky,
Into the slow pulsing beat,
Of the tropical night sky.
When looking from the river to the west,
I see that the sun has drifted out of sight,
Leaving a pale weak orangeness and pink,
In hues so delicate,
I want to bury my heart,
And rub up against it,
So weak that watery orangeness,
Splashed across the sky.
When I’m walking slowly back to my house,
Towel twisted around my waist,
Water dripping from my arms,
Shivering in the gentle breeze,
Every synapse firing,
All triggered,
All alert,
Savouring every last drop,
Drinking it all in,
So glad to be alive,
In that moment,
In the beauty of the evening sky.
