Crepuscular

Crepuscular

We busy ourselves so

it's hard to remember this stillness.

This timeless curve of twilight, when
minutes stretch

from hours passed -- tight chambers where uncharted
streams run under hoards of things we've forgotten
and walls glitter memories --

opening into yearn -- the touch of air
on maybe, night leaning against a column,
fears blown about like bags
we could collect or ignore, in front of
an ecstatic orange settling sun.