Evening (I)

Freed from any bias or end,
I’m going to describe this long
Evening shaped by jumps and a fence,
Darkness of crooked thoughts
Descending where never did I
Had I own the time to return
And transform it into rhymes
The moment it burned.

But alone I am, this I have:
A leftovers whirlwind,
A spirit slaughter,
A music I fought.
Of what I would offer,
Little, nay, naught
I gave yet
Not ending,
Not seeing again,
Just sketches of life.