the longest dusk


the light's become so
good at lingering
~westlight backshining
   the ridge trees, slowly

at this hour

buzzards wheel
to find perch in particular limbs,
flap noisily, settle and become another shadow

squirrels make ways back
to their cluster-nests for
the evening and crows
above say,

"go home!"

they dare not caw when
the owls wake to hunt

the wind keeps pushing the mountain;
dry grasses lay down on the flanks of Barnabe




     of all the ways to see it
     i keep coming back to the wind

     when you sit out until
     all we think of as still commences
     quivering in the subtle dusk
     there is no way of saying exactly
     when the night begins