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Perhaps, at evening time, some kindness sets,
some pride is dimmed, the sky's soft tartan weave,
a coming home in flocks; and each will leave
the daytime in swift transport, each forgets,
forgiveness dawns, the deepening shade that lets
eye cool to make calm audit, to relieve
the edge of competition; we believe
again. The day rolls shut, and such regrets
that stay become night's own; the lights come on
that make a shallows of nocturnal depths:
screens flicker into life, and talking faces
make strain seem natural once again and con
reciprocal attention; yet, perhaps,
a softness lingers; and of kindness, traces.
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