WHEN DUSK WAS JUST ANOTHER BLANKET

I remember it every time the seasons change.

How tender was the weight of evening 

sun pressing gently 

against skin and pavement

popsicle sweat and pine drifting wearily into dusk

a canopy of fitful shrieking laughter

dizzying warmth and color beneath 

heavy eyelids 

until at last, picked up to greet that half light sky

held fast in arms with muscle memory 

of all that I was

beginning to know

the day was over

just like that