This is my favorite time,

here at my desk:

the window open to the

lilting breeze, which makes

the leafy congregations whisper hymns

to the strings of kaytidian quartets.

In equal reverence I watch

the house behind slip into shadow,

the whole neighborhood subdued to rest.

I wish I could stay,

me and my book,

in the peaceful hour, when,

for a moment everything slows,

reflecting on the slow slip of time

in every sliver of sunset.

Chris Yokel