On summer evenings in Oak Park,
after the quiet of supper,
the talk and laughter of play
danced again along the street
from porch to steps to sidewalk.
It was a world full of people
until the signal for retreat,
a street light touching the dark
with its anxious chemical glow.
Through open bedroom windows
came murmurs and half-heard sounds,
the background of a bedtime story:
thinning traffic on the boulevard,
a distant train sliding to its stop
and pools of spreading silence,
the day conceding to the night.
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