Grey Evening (twenty minutes of twilight)

We don’t deserve a decaying summer wind
Stroking our respective backsides as we crunch
Across the pockmarked pavement.

We embrace enormous grey sweaters, hoodies
To encase our delicate shells.  We require
Woolen hats and nourishing thoughts or we’ll wither.

And even as we’re sure to find satisfaction of soul,
We remember to look up; we see
     the pale cobwebs of the upper reaches of Sever Hall.
The class is closed but our questions remain.

s.d.