A Partial List of Evening
 
It comes down 


like how you take


off your clothes
looking out the window.



 

The last of the sun’s 


cursive on a field
completing a warehouse


of shadows.
 
You close your eyes 


into how it falls.



Its arrival leaves


a paperback’s worth
of fear in the hills 


where the weather hides,



where the sky’s 


an ambushed theatre.



We look each other


up and down


in the last of the light
as if we’ve just met.

Noah Falck.jpg

Pronouns: He/His

1 Poem

Noah Falck

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A Partial List of Evening

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