Before the Night Comes

As I watch the day traveler befall into its rose-colored bed my mind is struck with an image tall, tilted wider than I can see.

Now behind the city's horizon, I cannot tell whether he'll come out again tomorrow, or the day after.

If he was a man he'd take a vacation for a week or a month, the way he does in the Deep North and South. Here by the middling ground, it's about being on schedule. On the clock. Even though he solely determines whether we spin or drift off to explore the rest of the universe.