Conversations at Dusk

the new night is

not yet pawing the leaf litter

or sharpening it’s teeth

on fences or trees

the wind doesn’t turn my head

sitting alone here on the bench

it knows I won’t look up

without the sound of footsteps

maybe it’s an old person thing

needing to say important things

to another human being

between the fleeing of day and

the arrival of night when a certain

silence seems dead set on taking

the seat between us