With Garments of the Evening

The blue-sky wanderer
comes often to the twilight
with irresolution, as a
cloud bank, horizon to horizon,
rolls in, while the guidance
of ambient light dims
to nearly nothing; he must
wait for the lady past
the dusk, the loss of light,
with garments of the evening;
she comes with a presence
softly felt, a tenderness,
a way through the darkness;
she senses the stars
that cannot be seen,
and offers a way,
when the wanderer,
without her, must wait,
which is his creeping death,
the loss of the mercy of Heaven,
a darkness that, without her,
will not wait.