Contemplating a Sunset

I sit on the threshold with my back to myself.
Facing the sun, red from dying.
Awaiting the dark, hunched and in a hat,
I rub my knees with my withered palms.

And the bubbles of the shadows collide and bounce apart.
Even the shadows, even they, even in the dusk,
can find no way to merge.

Shadowy balloons land upon my back.
And fly off before I feel they’ve ever been.