He stood on the edge of a suburb, where house windows faced an expanse
Of bushes and forest and small hills; and readied himself, with a chance.
He stood on the edge of a sunset, with houses not far from his rocks,
And somehow the sunset was lengthened, slowed up through a trick of the clocks.
He harnessed the wings he had fashioned, aware they'd permit him to glide,
But never to fly any higher; and planned his penultimate ride.
The suburb he'd wandered for decades had come to its outermost edge.
He felt like a pioneer, waiting for strength to step out from the ledge.
Around him the movement of minutes had now (from his viewpoint) grown slow.
But night can't be held back forever, since time need continue its flow.
The slowdown had only extended the best hour of one summer's day,
With sunburn unlikely, and also an hourglass providing delay.
Recalling his visits to galleries, with sunsets of canvas and paint;
He'd never seen anything like this, as time showed its generous restraint.
The colours of twilight would summon orion to twinkle and shine.
For once that could wait until someone had soared over branches and vine.
He bent his legs quickly and kicked out, so eager to see so much more.
Beneath him were fresh summer breezes; and he took his first chance to soar.
He curved over treetops, and wondered if branches beneath them were sharp.
With everything else in slow motion, he somehow could still hear a harp.
He veered in another direction, to mansions built next to the fern;
And spied, on a balcony-courtyard, the one who had caused him to turn:
A feminine woman, whose music was flowing in relative synch
With time's little gift for the glider, who knew he had no need to think.
He had enough height left, and reached her, as nightfall and real time were set
Concurrent with both of them, once more; its duty done once, they had met.
Like him she'd spent all those years waiting, unaltered by children or change;
So both could embrace their fulfilment, which destiny chose to arrange.