Dusk Chillout

Summer silence drops like cool water 
tilting stars that spill more light on me. 
Thunder and cicada
fill October's empty trees with sonata 
and a splash of sun in twilight wine. 

Inside homes abandoned to a television light 
perfusing softly the night's many flaws 
a couple go through the motions 
and the houseplants keep expelling  
air to poison.

When was the honey thicker?  
The sea clean? Was it better?

Or was that just a dream-- a legend no artist  
can at loose ends with reality make dovetail at dusk.
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Tragic family never anything
and now fewer birds in the sky
time itself flakes from away the memories 
for those upon the planet 
orbiting, as punishment 
til one day or another 
can't be remembered, and Time itself is done.

I lose the streets among the suburbs 
and end up at a stranger's home.

Years becoming suggestions.