At day’s end

• 

An evening like so many others,
too many passed to ever count,
pointing at the clouds that rib the sandy sky
in the blue and gold of end of day.

Too many passed to ever count,
the days we’ve shared, the nights,
and the different child hands that we’ve held,

pointing at the clouds that rib the sandy sky.
The ocean above we paddle, light as laughter,
sailing our full barque where songbirds flit

in the blue and gold at end of day,
apple light of moon and sun,
where evening’s done and all our dreams begun.