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In the Evening

The heads of the roses begin to droop.

The bee who has been hauling his gold

all day finds a hexagon in which to rest.

 

In the sky, traces of clouds,

the last few darting birds,

watercolors on the horizon.

 

The white cat sits facing a wall.

The horse in the field is asleep on its feet.

 

I light a candle on the wood table.

I take another sip of wine.

I pick up an onion and a knife.

 

And the past and the future?

Nothing but an only child with two different masks.

--Billy Collins

May 8, 2008

Posted on May 8, 2008 at 05:35 by Registered CommenterVeronica McCabe Deschambault in | Comments4 Comments

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Reader Comments (4)

White cat, red wine. The two in my world shall never meet, it would have devastatingly pink consequences.
May 8, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterClaudia
A pink cat? Now that's an interesting visual!
May 8, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterV-Grrrl
I always enjoy reading your poetry.
May 8, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterExpat-CIT
love this. only child with two different masks--something so obvious, but I've not thought of it like that before. That Billy Collins is a crafty little minx.
May 8, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterAnnieH

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