it was five o'clock when i started to miss you
i'd promised myself i wouldn't
the day was dull and i was tired and i didn't want you a part of that
   not even when you weren't there
but five o'clock i went out for a smoke
and found sunset on Christmas Day

i looked with my new old-man's eyes
   far-sighted as my summer begins to cool
there were six lights on the hill that hid the sun
   (i counted)
thin, clear air
   cloudless open to the cold of space and winter stars
the light was flesh in the west,
   if flesh were lit from within
hues cooled as they hugged the horizon
   and did a water-color blend around the north and south
   to end indigo and black
black winter maple skeletons to the west
white winter birch skeletons to the east
   meandered clutching untwinkling Christmas stars
      in just enough wind to remember there were no leaves

i wanted you there,
  your back to my chest,
   wearing something fleecy warm
   wearing my arms around you
looking at what i saw
   and showing me how much i miss

but then five o'clock was gone
the light had escaped
   from the shadows and black bark that spread over the farm
   and became night
the stars were past counting
   (i tried)
   and my cigar was cold
i took my empty embrace
   and my five o'clock miss-you
   and i left the sunset outside