Tired Twilight Poem

Drips fall from the tips of these green fingers,
I'm safe beneath these boughs and close to the heart
Of this old fir tree.

Thor, wet, covered in black fur and alive
On only a wing and prayer,
Licks my hands.

Some good beer, dark and strong,
sits next to me on a bench made of wood.
Way, way off, in the distance beyond my sight
A dull orange glow
Hums quietly into the coming night.

Hands, back, feet and heart
All are aching
All are tired.

But for now this rain is enough.
This daylight turning quickly to night,
This dog and this beer,
This tree and this bench.
This me sitting still
Taking all of it in.
And letting all of it go.