The Five O'Clock Sun (revised)

[TranquillityBase]

The Five O’Clock Sun

Shade flourishes 
within a southerly breeze.

The dog and I sit 
listless on the stone patio
both of us anticipating 
the coming of dusk
after sheltering 
from unbroken heat
only to retreat again 
to our air conditioned asylum
the dog to sleep, 
while I read myself into oblivion.

Five o’clock is the signal 
for a subdued rejoicing
when we can see twilight 
rising from the ground up.
Clouds in the west 
build walls against the light.
The songs of the cicadas 
become sporadic.

We will come out again
after darkness dominates
to celebrate the quiet night.
We will rise before dawn 
to imbibe the tepid coolness
dreading sunrise
and another day’s ordeal
beneath a pitiless sun.

The Five O’Clock Sun  ver. 2



Shade flourishes within a southerly breeze.

It’s been a good day; I learned the word “tachistoscope”.



The dog and I lounge on the stone patio

both of us anticipating the little victory of dusk.



Deer wander the fence line, not exactly like beggars,

gazing hungrily at the delights of my wife’s gardens.



It was another day of sheltering from unbroken heat.

We come out every few hours to endure its firmament



then go back to air conditioned resurrection

the dog to sleep, myself to read or write



but five o’clock is a particular visitation

when we can begin to imagine evening’s liberation.



A cooling night is only a few hours away

clouds in the west build walls against the setting sun.



The songs of the cicadas begin to fade.

It’s the end of another day in this cruel summer’s passage.



I know there are more days to come, to endure.

What the dog know I’m not sure, but he’ll be with me.







The Five O’Clock Sun ver. 1







Shade flourishes within a southerly breeze.



It’s been a good day; I discovered the word “tachistoscope”.







The dog and I lounge on the stone patio



both of us anticipating the little victory of dusk.







Deer wander the fence line, not exactly like beggars,



gazing hungrily at the green of my wife’s gardens.







It was another day of sheltering from relentless heat.



We come out every few hours to feel its spell







then go back to air conditioned resurrection



the dog to sleep, myself to read or write







but five o’clock is a special visitation



when we can begin to imagine evening’s liberation.







Precious night is only a few hours away



clouds in the west build walls against the setting sun.







The songs of the cicadas begin to fade.



It’s the end of another day in summer’s passage.







We know there’s more to come.



Together we will endure them.