Late summer evening—
 
the homeward path is narrow,
 
but my steps are sure.

 
 
 

On the evening news
 
reports of robins appear—
 
eighteen days till spring.

Meal

 
 
 

for the evening meal
 
bread still warm from the oven
 
and two cups of tea

Homeless

 
 
 

Midsummer evening—
 
on a street with no flowers
 
a homeless man sleeps.

Miles

 
 
 

rainy winter evening—
 
still seven more miles to go
 
until I get home

Potatoes

 
 
 

a few potatoes
 
comprising the evening feast
 
in Van Gogh’s painting

Frigid

 
 
 

Even the scarecrow
 
inches closer to the fire
 
this frigid evening.