Evening Poem #84

I should just go to sleep, the evening so
small it's just about to disappear
into the past where all evenings go.
I should just stop drinking altogether,
the evening lucid before I get there.
Into the forgotten past it goes,
where all my evenings go.
I should just go to sleep, the glass
half-empty and these letters
still legible, into a bed which
still bears your imprint, too,
and remains legible, though
into the past it goes, as all
evenings go, and all people.