Among Dusk’s Voice

It is in slanting shadows and the light
scatter of rain; and evening’s hood that fits
down, squeezing the town into its night…
it is near where I am. The night admits
an aimless hearkening – and all around
in the dark lateness is a sound, a cry,
a whisper, nothing.
Nothing to be found
or known about.
It is a dream that I
have often fallen into…that there is
like one leaf on a tree, a lingering piece
of his lost special truth for every man.
His mind is widely blind: and yet he can
be near this separate life. The winds release
it down the evening. Sometimes it is his.

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