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  Summer Evening

It then finds itself as a thing we'll reconsider, basking
at the tire-marked edge of a barren parking structure:

opus of late afternoon—the advancing grace
of grace in light. We sense and begin to wonder

how it unfolds so largely unrevealed, unheralded.
A pleasant task it is to examine it keenly; the distance

squashed, dioramic, cottony with evening haze
and the odd pointers of dragonflies darting about

breast-height to hip-level—crazed, quick, dark shelled
metaphors of the too, too many variables embedded in...

It could happen like this:   you leave work late, and
find the caladiums sprawling the borders of the walkway
      languid with excitation.

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