-This poem reflects on the blue hour arriving earlier in autumn, when fading garden colors, lighted windows, and reflections in the glass mark the gradual shortening of the day.
The daylight leaves the garden soon,
before the supper plates are cleared,
and blue collects along the fence
where asters darken in the grass.
The maple keeps a little gold
along the branches toward the west,
while sparrows settle in the hedge
and call once more across the yard.
Across the road, one window glows,
then two more answer farther down,
a bicycle beside the gate
loses its silver in the blue.
By six, the path has lost its stones,
the porch lamp draws a single moth,
our faces meet us in the glass
before the first star clears the roof.