I went to the kitchen and opened a window, saw the evening approach. I thought it beautiful, all the greens, like a population of one color, with a million subtle tones, differences that glowed and like names called out to themselves against the backyard gardens. They said, "here", like an offered hand were raised to me from below. I know I should take the offering and share it, write it and make it into something that you could use, that you could hold under caps and shells that preserve the moment in whatever form or shape I decide to give it. But its so wonderful and the longer I stay the less I'll be able to give you. Its one of those moments of poetry where its too good to take with me, I can't bother it and bottle it, I have to leave it alone and just watch it, because its already a poem. Its already finished.