I am not ready for this:
the dark at 4:30
exaggerating the sense of refuge
in this room where I write this.
I have gone through this entire day
tailed by something like sorrow.
In the twilight it crosses the threshold.
The wavy glass in the window
drifts closer without the light behind it
to hold it back.
Soon there will be nothing
The clock ticking on the wall
is final and unforgiving
NOW, NOW, NOW,
The lamp on my desk
with each thunderous stroke.
copyright Charles Oberkehr