The Timelessness of Dusk

Dusk. Quiet. The wind long past.
The storms too have made their way inland.
In a distance you hear the bell of a bouy,
barely moved enough by waves to ring.

The seagulls have gone to roost.
In the distance, the last few coyotes on the island yip.
Late in the day and the light falls slowly, timeless,
hard to tell one moment from the next, but

stay long enough all all becomes dark.

About this poem

About the end of day. About aging.

The picture was taken at Provincetown, Mass.

Tom