It is the gloaming in steady rain

striking the windshield, windows,

that metallic sound of rain

hitting the car’s roof,

fog rising in random valleys.

Sense the constancy of beauty,

take a bill out of my mailbox

that provides no gloaming,

nothing haunting, no fog

letting me wonder where I am, might be.

I will pay the bill tomorrow.

This evening’s beauty, this

will not leave, this sense of being

given what I can never pay for.