<html><head><meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"></head><body dir="auto"><div dir="ltr"><div class=""><div class=""><span class="">Lingering Light</span></div><div class=""><b class=""><br class=""></b></div><div class=""><b class=""></b></div><div class="">Praise the softening that happens in me</div><div class="">when I see light lingering past 8 p.m.,</div><div class="">just a candle-flicker’s worth of sun</div><div class="">before dusk takes over the sky, but enough</div><div class="">to make me pause at the window as if</div><div class="">I had lit a votive and placed it there</div><div class="">on the altar of clouds, small beacon</div><div class="">that calls me from the stack of dishes</div><div class="">with a towel twisted in my hands to say:</div><div class="">The world is changing again, the days</div><div class="">now lengthening, and someone up there</div><div class="">has refused to snuff this candle out</div><div class="">until the last possible second.</div></div><div class=""><br class=""></div><div class=""><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>- James Crews</div></div></body></html>