Saturday Poetry

Let Evening Come

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.  

Let the crickets take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come. 

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn. 

Let the fox go back to her sandy den. 
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come. 

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop 
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come. 

Let it come, as it will, and don't 
be afraid. God does not leave me
comfortless, so let evening come. 

Jane Kenyon, 1990