now the evening comes

now the evening goes
it's not much to go on but
it's not the clues we choose that
we are given it's the clues we notice
the news is they choose us over all others to
be the bearers of good news that is why
we notice small details of our life tiny
miniscule insignificant little details that mean
nothing to anyone else except ourselves the
way my hand grips this mug for example
and lifts the
ambient light in this echoing hall that noone will
ever see like this again nor will i remember this
moment for long it will be gone buried in the avalanche of time
and again i apologize for my father
was a preacher and spent a year
of his life at st edwards in austin contemplating the
horizon i have been there i have seen him there although
he's been dead for many years