Twilight drifts through the bedroom window
With a wistful cast for all it is not:
Not bright daylight lit by the sun;
Not rain clouds threatening to drench all below;
Not stygian darkness preparing to showcase the stars;
Not even the overloud rumble occasioned by the passing train.
Falling so quickly it cannot choose
On which side of time to place its allegiance:
The waking hours of so varied array
Or the quieting duration of more similar miens.
Caught in this hesitation for its brief span,
It slips away before my eyes,
After murmuring almost unheard thanks,
Grateful that I had watched and noticed.
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