The Long Day
At nine o’clock the sky is still white
And the cars and cycles roar along the highway without headlights
As if there will never be darkness again. No night.
The trees are fully leaved and stand at rest in the breezeless evening.
Somewhere, mothers and fathers have put young children to bed already.
In only minutes the day has faded
Now the birds skitter to hide in the distant trees
And begin their choral lament.
Even farther away, the first, echoing reports of the cicadas.
The soft garden lights now start to give back the day’s brightness
And now the kitchen window across the way is yellow with incandescent light.
The white, faraway clouds that creep north to south across the horizon
Are gone grey.