It’s in evening hours
When the sunlight spills
Golden across the trees and the deck -
It’s in evening hours
When people are busy rushing
Home to hug their children
And eat dinner with their loves –
It’s in evening hours,
When the traffic hums solace
To the coughing air above the freeway,
That comforting whir of movement
That I can’t sleep well without.
It’s in evening hours,
When the phone rings
And it’s no one,
Telling me how their day went and asking if I am ok.
It’s in evening hours,
When I sometimes forget
That you’re gone
And it’s in evening hours,
When I don’t want to remember
That you can’t come back.