In the evening, where comes the breeze

In the evening where the birds call between canopies of trees, and water trickles on repeat.
As the people begin to sleep and the sun finds its place in my memory,
sliding itself between the laughs and momentous happenings of the day.

Between winged creatures catapulted on the wind, and vicious beasts that exist only in stories.
In a place where the sun drops low in the sky and squashes you between shadows and lapping waves.
The same waves that house the beasts.

Where viscous lights flicker a pulsating licks usually found only in the colder years
but here it flitters and flutters like an animal awaiting freedom from its gaseous stilt.

In the evening it ascends as the breeze ends, completes is journey from some distant place,
some unthought foreign birthplace
to my bare chest
and delicate shoulders
and salted toes zip-zapping like rivers,
and people dear to me in distant places within a words’ reach.

In this evening I find things falling in to place.