The evening light was like honey in the trees
When you left me and walked to the end of the street
Where the sunset abruptly ended...
Burnt horizons suddenly paved with golden stones,
Dreams I had, including suicide,
Puff out the hot-air balloon now.
It is bursting, it is about to burst
With something invisible
Just during the days.
We hear, and sometimes learn,
Pressing so close.
"A Mood of Quiet Beauty," John Ashbery
[Chicago Avenue west of Damen Avenue]
