by Marshall Jamison

So very softly the swift shafts of darkness
invade the fading sunlight.
In shadow, the inner leaves of the orange tree shiver
slightly, anticipating the quick loss of warmth
At the sun’s decline into the dark blue lake.
I hear the distant cry of a seagull flying Nestward
Through the drone of a tiny single engine plane
Seeking sanctuary as well. And my wife,
Ever thoughtful and loving, lights the single lamp
Over my head and suggests with that gesture
That I’d better come in.