The Light at 4:37 p.m.

They give me times
about this shimmer on the earth
when it will appear
and who it will bring out

Or what
or what demons
the second hand suspended for a minute
like the skip of an arythmic heart

The light at 4:37 p.m. always bothered me too
in these days before the turning year
the death shadows merciless, inevitable
urns cupped in corners of
otherwise ordinary rooms

The empty echo
of the laughter of other years
childhood, youth,
the yawning years before old age
the way time draws in close
holds its breath
a skipped moment
a week of regrets

Then spins back on its orbit
burying these days
and the odd menace of that light
in another full year of distance run

BY 12.28.05