by Tom Montag

ENTERS THE EVENING

Light the color of dust
Settled on corn stalks just before

Harvest. Dusk. Once, the chirp
Of crickets and a quiet beer.

Sound of the river. Once,
The smell of new-mown hay, shadow

Of a breeze stirring the trees.
What the light carries low. Dusk.

All the edge of things
Defined by approximation.


Originally published in WISCONSIN POETS' CALENDAR.