Dusk Draws Its Veil

As I bend my head back
in sharp-angled contemplation,
I unleash a shattered glance
at opaque skylights, and glimpse
silver sprinklers slipping
from mottled squares of marble.
An impassioned blaze
of filament flame
penetrates me--I'm ready
for the interrogation.
My back conforms to once again;
let fences descend, there's
always the rhythm of the rain.
A tan hat taxes gravity,
stubborn to any tumble.
The pet-shop parrots
roost in one-legged slumber
while her image appears
in my mind, film-flutter,
in high definition with some
further encores of travail.
(God help me; I've come undone.)
And dusk draws its veil
over the business of life.
As I bend my head back, plumb,
I see window panes and light.