12 line poem

Summer Evening

It then finds itself as a thing we'll reconsider, basking at the tire-marked edge of a barren parking structure: opus of late afternoon—the advancing grace of grace in light. We sense and begin to wonder how it unfolds so largely unrevealed, unheralded. A pleasant task it is to examine it keenly; the distance squashed, dioramic, cottony with evening haze and the odd pointers of dragonflies darting about breast-height to hip-level—crazed, quick, dark shelled metaphors of the too, too many variables embedded in... It could happen like this: you leave work late, and find the caladiums sprawling the borders of the walkway languid with excitation.