The sun is going down

   with the hint of Florentine shadings

   a cream and orange light

   fading in the autumnal mist.

A chill sets in

   causing gooseflesh on her thighs

   the lover lets out a sigh

   while contemplating the evening.

Life is constantly changing

   enveloped in the echo of a roar

   from the sleepwalker’s waking

   shaking off the dust

   of that long traveled road.

Feeling just how empty the space

   between one and two really is.

There’s much less distance to fall

   from a park bench

   than there is from a penthouse.

Perhaps that is what

   all the ruckus is about?

The loneliness of cold in the winter

   and the darkness of night

   becomes more extreme at the edges.

Eventually that warm embrace

   comes to an end

   as the sun retreats to the mountains

   as light begins to fade

   and boots can be heard marching.

On which side of the line do you stand?

Will you be the shield

   for the approaching blow,

   or sipping champagne in the moonlight?

Under which tent do you sit

   when they clear the field for battle,

   declaring health and safety

   while swinging a baton?

Which side of sunset do you stand on?

Are you shivering defeated

   in the diminishing light,

   or rising in glory,

   basking in the warmth

   of a new morning?

What will you tell

   your grandchildren

   when they ask

   of your place in history?

Oh, let that be our proudest moment.

Mark Lipman