Twilight Liturgy

The roar of a distant highway
intrudes like a timid visitor,
peeks between mullioned fields,
then asserts with the cough of a semi.

Elsewhere, a freight train,
as if only just alive,
shoots a warning complaint
of weary, forseen disagreement.

The crickets stall on a false start,
the promise of coming chirrups
that sputtered and choked;
it is yet too cold for their throttling hymn.

The night begins its liturgy
in low, muttered phrases of song.