Every Evening There Is This Grace

Every evening there is

this golden light pouring

out of the west

over everything;

splashing against the terrible dancing

wheels of highway trucks,

the blowing newspapers,

the children's unfinished homework.

Every evening there is

this bubbling fountain of light

flowing across our bodies

after the digging and sitting

the aching ears and aching backs

and tired hands and endless paper;

the people's unfinished business.

Every evening there is

this red, sinking globe

in which our eyes

want to wade,

to drink deeply from it

right in the middle of

making dinner, washing dishes,

washing children's hands.

Every evening there is this light;

And then the stars -

and the city pauses

as serene twilight

lays itself down across

the contours of our lives.