KEITH WILSON
EVENSONG
It is evening again.
My son and his son
sit on the patio, a breeze
catches my grandson's blonde hair,
his father's darkly intense face
leans over his seven-year-old tranquility.
I, a shadow, soon to vanish
watch, hear their voices
as water flowing over
mountain stones or light
caught just before dusk
by surprise, all is held
here in the closing darkness.
— for Kevin & Jeremiah
A bow to one of the enduring poets of the American southwest. Keith Wilson published books with Kayak, Sumac, Clark City, Grove and with many small presses, including Longhouse, where we've drawn this poem from "Life Drawings". Long may he run.
