Just After Sunset

I’ve decided what I want

Is coffee, held loosely

Between my thin fingers and tattooed

Wrists emerging from sweater sleeves

Like the little green

Necks of flowers shake off

The black Earth in April.

What I want

Is a cat dozing in those

Corridors of light

That stretch out over the carpets of

Suburban homes, and slowly

Lengthen then make the air

Turn pink for about 30 minutes

Only, just after sunset.

I want to watch that sun

Slip underground, and think it’s

Beautiful, call the dark

Velvet, obsidian, onyx, a pattern

Of dots, and the winter

A very long, slightly disorienting

Though certainly refreshing

Nap, blindingly white

And sparkling.