Holding on to daylight

As darkness falls, travelers are homing
Turning on their lights to keep the day into gloming
Outside, spirits seek but they only end by roaming
When night comes on they’ll all go back to merely loaming.

Birthday

This is the last poem of my twenties
Sweat-stained and full, those years
Of triumph and little moments
Lost even as they happened
Are packed up in a dirty cardboard box
And left in a closet to be occasionally discovered
When looking for something else
But never, no never, thrown away.

Tomorrow starts fresh, stepping into
A new dawn with a limp and a scar
Or two, to make it real.
There steps a man, I think, at last.