At the feet of the dying day
I follow the rhythm of the slowing street,
Make the swishing leaves the soundtrack
To crisp autumn thoughts.
In front of an elegant house, a well-dressed
Woman confidently closes the trunk
Of the sleek car and, looking busy,
Rushes into the rest of her life.
I look as she enters her home
With the step of the owner
And am glad not to be her.
Above, a tiny plane leaves a trail
In the darkening face of light –
A quick glance at my watch:
Five to six.
A smile spreads across my face
Like the wings of the plane
Tilting above the hushed world
At the end of another day.
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