You Could Go Home


you could take a walk
into the oncoming twilight of an early June,

just before the magic hour saunters in,

when liquid light-gold flows in slow-motion
through green leaves,
in between dark branches.

Maybe someone is kindling common air to sacred flame
through the mouth of a trumpet.

Maybe the lilacs are sprayed up
against the brick walls.

Perhaps a lover
waits for you.

Maybe dance.
Maybe death.

Perhaps fame.
Perhaps fortune.


perhaps it’s just an early June,
and maybe

just the magic hour.

After the Rain


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