That time in the early evening,
a cold sunset gone—
colder than I remember
a year ago
at apparently
the same time—
the time when cars
go by, one after another.
Purposeful, not speeding,
just to get home.
My neighbors are tired
and hungry
For what
do they hunger?
beyond a break in the day,
in from the cold?
A warm dinner.
What more do they want?
Where do they turn?
Words fail.
They cannot tell me.
If they could
I would not hear them
going past
down
this ordinarily quiet road.