Evening's Entrance

The crows on the branches Are a sewing circle of executioner’s wives Complaining about how their husbands come home Smelling like death, and about the long hours, And good God have you seen the laundry bill? Their husbands had all more than once Promised to quit. But they loved it too much. Working with your hands, outside in the sunshine, Crowds gathered just to watch them. Meanwhile, the trees were a steep staircase A woman was descending, wrapping herself In her night-colored cloak, wringing her hands Like she was planning a murder. Oh thick fog, Even you were not breaking character tonight!