Sundowning

Sundowning

The pieces reassemble, drops of golden light once scattered, return. The sun has a use: it teaches one how to say goodbye in silence. And along the pier he heard the lunatics and condemned howl from the hillside. Man and men sharing air. The greens are fresh, you know they grow on the decayed and the gnarled. It’s when cowards and heroes are forged by television sets. bells of bronze, silver, gold, and lead toll green shadows. Tobacco, chocolate and deodorant are the luxuries here, and maybe a funeral for the hollow skins of flies. Water trots onto the scene, it always finds a way. Red sunbeams through fanblades speak well of all. The emptiness goes unrifled by our tremblings as we wait to be terrified. And a castrated cavalry sleeps atop a sacred hill, shadows stinking absolutely. A religious experience here, the eyes against the air, a tapestry you can’t touch or stop looking at. You see and hear the quiet as the wind gives up the gold. And it is night, and oblivion sheathes its victory, and all pigs can walk into bars on two legs.