the good thief

The good thief

The day’s light eases itself here
into a comfortable position
suitable for a good dusk,
catches the blackbirds twittering
along the telephone lines
that loop along the dirt road––
a road that knows best
how to scoop the hollows
and cinch the waistlines
of these shapely hills.
It’s true that hills roll
and easier than wheels
without moving an inch.
And these telephone poles,
old tree bones,
it almost seems that
it’s their looping lines
that’s what’s holding them up.
And this mellowing,
the mauve sky settling
in horizon’s bowl,
this prowling inside
the remains of the day,
this good thief
that steals the day’s clutter
and leaves the best
for now.