when the day is running out
the sun settles on the hill
and time stands still
in time for us to see the glory
of what we’d had without noticing
put down your cup until your heart
resumes its march into evening
with the clatter of cutlery
in the sink spoon against spoon
pushing the pendulum on
the patter of paws on the tiles
bringing time into kilter
for the now for the day