A Poem Written This Evening

It is not often that I write poetry that I am willing to share. I can be shy about the results. Sitting later than usual at my office desk, I have woven some words -- again and again -- to catch some of the flavor of this peaceful evening. The photograph is one I took a month ago inside the writing cabin of American naturalist Edwin Way Teale. No, the window in this photograph does not look onto the night, but the desk is wooden.

Safe evenings, true nights,
The syllables of the heart,
A lit lamp on a wooden table,
Windows onto the night.

Windows into a heart,
An evening safe for the pen and paper,
The syllables of the night,
A table lit by a wooden lamp.

The wooden syllables of the table,
The evening paper, the nighttime lamp,
A pen lit by the heart,
True windows, safe nights.

Lamp onto the heart,
A table without pen or paper,
Safe syllables, true nights,
Wooden window open --