Thus bends the day
toward nightfall
unbidden, unrelinquished
without reference or meaning

So goes another lost anthem
drifting off to bedlam
from the sheer friction of time

Whatever hounds or tracks our lives
however keen, persistent,
(such wisps as bind us to our fate)

Yet stronger than all
our pining flings the day gone

And we,
too full of surrendering
to simply release

While the wick burns lower
the dwindle-dream