crisp, cool sheets
the sun has stopped at 7 o'clock
single pane opened to the dusk coming down
approach the view, hand towards mouth
towards the open question, a pausing tongue
an unopened kiss, an un-felt caress
sunlight against baseboard, against paint, against goldenrod
or perhaps wheatland crests
bobby-pins soon to be scattered, as the heart pauses
what is the question? what are her burning thoughts?
in the distance, dim squares of yellow light glow
like a candle flame behind grease-paper,
muted and forlorn, withered, lonely, vacant
in a blue shale dusk eternally falling to an unknown ground
suspended here, in this moment, looking out
at an oil paint world...