Day -- hard-edged and ragged --
turns to pinks and reds
across the shadowed hills.
Nothing is the same as it was:
Day is evening out.
Moon softens all the details --
sings where day shouted.
With great, shady arms akimbo,
Evening settles into a hum, synchonized
with the enlivened soil, still
warm from a day full of sun.
All the jangling of those hours, quiet as dust now.
Evening rests and claims rest
from the jagged edges of the world.