July 25, 2016

Song for Evening

The traveler in me is weary, who walks

        the bridges of evening that span

no visible shores, toward the darkness

        which beckons and forewarns.

 

My wanderer wends toward darkness

        where the moonlit music of flutes

weaves a silver and velvet doublet

        to shroud his widowed heart.

 

Weary though he be, and his heart grown

        single with grief, I fear

he will not rest; the bridge thrusts

        endlessly onward, the music lures.

 

Though he press onward, I shall abide,

        let weather who will, or fall.

I have turned my heart toward silence

        that binds and chastens like mail.