Dark
 
I find myself dawdling 
in the evening fold 
meandering in the pale 
 
peripheries of day 
out of the dark 
pull of night 
 
and onto the spilled light 
of the dwindled sun, 
 
the way the moth zigzags 
in the twilight blur 
toward the dazzle 
 
of the lamps embrace. 
 
Myself 
to escape 
the bleakness of night 
 
that darkens deeper ever 
beyond day's sinking dust 
of memories unhoarded, 
 
must turn to the sun 
of remembered past: 
 
the mind minestripping 
the dim, drying heart 
for the ash of remembrance 
 
of the light's embrace. 

--Carlos A. Angeles

Dusk
Gabu
Storm Warning
Manhattan Rain
Higway
The Summer Trees
Balance of Our Days