Sunday Afternoon

I

Afternoon darkens

and my camera is

quiet in my palm.

I wanted to shoot

faces, but...

there are only

dead leaves here and

house roofs beyond which

the sun has just sunk,

quiet in my eyes.

I wanted to know faces

and drown in the sun.

II

Afternoon turns

toward evening, I

sense it’s all over.

But dark and gray

before me are our

wind chimes;

flattened spoons

whose swinging

in the pastel light,

the still air,

is memory,

singing.