I never asked for Sunday evening,
For bruise-blue dusks and weekday
Aims conceded to the simple course
Of hours bloomed and swallowed.
I never asked for twilight’s heavy
Luxury to greet me
Or the silvered kiss of minutes
Slipping past in drops of rain.
I never asked and never wondered
If the chances would be closing,
But the clouds unfolding now
Suggest there’s something
To regret, and it’s the progress
Of the fog and of the rivers going dark
That leaves me thinking,
Maybe Sunday evening
Nonetheless is something lovely.