Small Village When I returned at sunset The trees were waving like witches’ fingers I waited in anticipation I thought something was going to happen It was just imagination But silence spread all Around me Like fog on the mountains I sat in my room And watched sunset And saw starlight I heard a siren in the distance The last engine of the last car The last person walking into his door And suddenly beyond the housetops I imagined pink clouds Horses pulling carriages Day closing Gradual slumber Sweet rest When all the lamps were lighted I strolled along outside Wakeful almost happy And half the night I wandered in the street Ethan Reed