From The Crepescule Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Wives lost into graveyards,
Strewn from their imperfect marks: now bachelors
Traveling in their distraught cars
All over town, getting ice-cream alone- windows
Of abandoned businesses,
Snowflakes lost in trees becoming infatuated
And falling into the veins on a leaf
Like the extending lines of
A river, cheating chalk and death- above the heads of
The law abiding citizens,
The chief misfits, and the short ways home from school-
Pinpricks of imperfect light boiling in the yards
Like freckles over ants,
And the weeds pushing through, hungrily while foxes
Are underneath the houses tired of
Dreaming of vineyards too far away, they proposition
Alley cats to become a zoetrope together
And thus they move from the crepuscule, and naturally
Approaching darkness
They go up the hills after each other, loping until
Their shadows are removed from view.