the last of evening

by mistersoto

how many times
through exhaustion enacted
these rituals of evening
have I played?
of a window
beckoning, of a sky to look over
through it
I’ve seen you
and your ground
the things
after exertions
you’ve attended, and those through diminished energies
left beyond reach
remained aside for the recharge
ours reflected
off the glassed window
between our portraits
our fingers traced
in the last of evening